BOSTON  INSIDE  OUT 


SINS    OF    A    GEEAT    CITY! 


A  STORY  OF  REAL  LIFE. 


BY 


REV.  HENRY   MORGAN, 

AUTHOK  OP  "NED  NEVINS,  THE  NEWSBOY,"  "  SHADOWY  HAXD;   '-n,  LIFE 
STRUGGLES,"  AND  "Music  HALL  DISCOURSES." 


TENTH  THOUSAND,  REVISED  AND  ENLARGED. 


BOSTON: 

SHAWMUT    PUBLISHING    COiMPANY 

81    SHAWMUT   AVENUE. 

1880. 


COPYRIGHT,  1880, 
BY    HENRY    MORGAN. 


[All  rights  reserved.] 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIFTH  THOUSAND. 


A  FEW  weeks  only,  and  "  Boston  Insido 
Out"  reaches  its  fifth  thousand.  I  have 
waited  for  the  critics,  and  they  have  spoken. 
Now  is  my  time  to  speak.  My  life-work 
gives  me  the  right  to  speak.  For  twenty 
years  and  more  have  I  toiled  for  the  down 
trodden,  the  poor,  battled  against  vice  and 
crime  in  Boston.  I  have  battled,  sacrificed, 
and  toiled  as  no  other  man  has  done.  To 
self-indulgence  I  have  been  a  stranger.  My 
life  has  been  almost  a  torture.  No  vacation, 
no  recreation,  nothing  but  toil,  toil,  toil! 
The  burdens  of  a  sin-stricken  people  have 
oppressed  me.  The  sorrows  of  lost  souls 
have  stricken  me  down  to  the  borders  of 
the  grave.  Poor  newsboys  have  burdened 
my  soul.  At  times,  death  has  seemed  my 
only  relief. 

During  all  these  years  not  an  unkind  word 
has  come  from  the  Boston  press.  No  barbed 


il  PJREFACE. 

criticisms,  no  sly  sneer,  no  sarcastic  taunt. 
The  papers  have  berated  Beecher,  assailed 
Talraadge,  handled  Murray  without  gloves, 
caricatured  Joseph  Cook;  but  Henry  Mor 
gan  they  have  not  assailed.  They  have  re 
spected  my  motives  and  my  character. 

Yet  this  same  press  I  must  now  con 
demn.  I  must  strike  at  the  house  of  my 
friends.  Why?  Because  the  papers  are 
derelict  in  duty,  watchmen  that  do  not  warn. 
What  hope  with  a  blind  press  and  a  silent 
pulpit  1  Why,  all  the  evils  of  which  I  write 
were  known  to  the  daily  press  before  I  sent 
my  agents  into  the  field.  All  the  sins  and 
crimes  and  scandals  in  high  places.  The 
chief  mission  of  the  press  seems  to  be,  not 
to  expose,  not  to  warn,  not  to  give  the  news, 
but  to  suppress  facts,  to  hide  pitfalls,  to 
conceal  crime,  and  to  divert  attention.  It 
puffs  every  boat  race,  ball  club,  dog  show, 
cat  show,  horse  race,  prize  fight,  lottery  swin 
dle,  and  every  questionable  theatrical  clap 
trap;  but  moral  reform  has  no  advertise- 
mentk,  piety  don't  pay.  Hence  its  silence. 
Even  Father  Titus's  crimes  were  known  and 


PREFACE.  Ill 

whispered  to  the  press,  but  hushed.  If  all 
his  deeds  were  published  or  exposed,  then  not 
another  mass  would  be  said  before  his  body 
would  be  removed  from  beneath  the  altar 
which  it  desecrates,  and  the  church  be  ex 
onerated  from  the  stain.  If  the  deeds  of 
a  dozen  other  priests  now  known  to  the  press 
were  given  to  the  light,  then  the  church  build 
ings  that  have  shielded  them  in  their  crimes 
would  not  only  be  taxed,  but  they  would  be 
threatened  with  the  fate  of  the  Ursuline 
Convent.  ~No  wonder  vice  abounds  ! 

Lightning  strikes  the  tallest  trees,  but 
justice  in  Boston  takes  only  the  underbrush. 
I  have  spared  neither  sect  nor  creed,  not  even 
the  tall  sycamores  of  Beacon  Hill  nor  the 
underbrush  of  North  Street. 

Some  say  "  gross  exaggeration."  Well,  the 
drinking  scene  at  the  Gildersleeves'~is  col 
ored  so  as  to  present  a  dozen  St.  Botolph 
clubs  in  one.  But  the  criminal  facts  are  not 
colored;  indeed,  the  half  hath  not  been  told. 

Boston  is  a  representative  city  of  America. 
As  goes  Boston  so  go  the  rest.  What  is  the 
moral?  It  is  this:  "Flee  the  great  cities! 


iy  PREFACE. 

Oh  young  man,  happy  in  your  country  home, 
come  not  to  the  great  city !  Flee  its  tempta 
tions,  its  poverty,  and  its  crimes.  Bring  not 
the  Sarahs  of  your  early  love  to  the  tents  of 
the  Abimelechs,  or  the  palaces  of  the  Pha 
raohs.  Anchor  not  among  the  shoals  and 
quicksands  of  city  life." 

My  text  is  the  "  Torch  on  Beacon  Hill," 
graven  on  the  back  of  the  book.  As  that 
beacon  torch  once  lighted  ships  entering 
Boston  Harbor,  warning  them  of  danger,  so 
the  canvassers  of  this  book,  from  New  Eng 
land  hills  to  the  Pacific  slope,  cry,  "  Flee  the 
sirens  of  the  metropolis.  Take  no  stock  in 
the  gambler's  art.  Woe  to  the  unfortunate 
when  he  falls.  Heaven  save  him,  for  he  will 
have  no  helper." 

Nearly  all  the  living  characters  have  vis 
ited  me  and  commented  upon  the  book.  Mr. 
Eyeglass  Slippers  thinks  the  book  a  slander 
on  "  doot  thociety ;  it  ought  to  be  thup- 
pressed."  Jonathan  Jerks  is  angry  because 
half  his  facts  were  not  allowed  in  print.  Mrs. 
Dawkins  still  mourns  over  the  fate  of  Frank 
Gildersleeve. 


PREFACE.  V 

The  servants  at  the  "  Haunted  House " 
have  again  and  again  come  to  verify  their 
story  of  the  ghosts.  One  shows  marks  of 
ghostly  scratches  on  the  arm.  Ghosts  are 
as  real  to  her  as  purgatory  itself.  Sambo 
alone  is  missing.  Rose  Delaney  swears  to 
facts  more  abhorrent  than  any  I  have  writ 
ten.  She  declares  her  first  and  only  false 
step  was  by  priestly  solicitation. 

Poor  Minnie  Marston  is  to  be  pitied.  I 
intended  a  second  volume  with  the  story  of 
her  life,  but  death  will  close  the  narrative. 
When  from  out  the  hospital  she  came  to  see 
me,  a  wreck  of  health  and  of  hope,  her  child 
dead,  her  lungs  consumed,  I  said,  "  Can  this 
be  the  young,  the  gifted,  the  beautiful  Min 
nie  Marston,  the  child  of  so  many  prayers 
and  parental  hopes,  the  child,  strong  and  con 
fident  in  her  own  innocence,  that  launched  her 
tiny  bark  out  on  a  sea  of  temptation  and  was 
wrecked  by  another's  hands?"  Little  did  I 
know  of  the  fatal  consequences  when  I  mar 
ried  her  to  Frank  Gildersleeve.  Little  did  I 
think  that  my  dimly  lighted  room  at  eventide 
was  to  foreshadow  such  dire  calamities. 

Once    more    I    lift    my   voice    and    cry 


VI  PREFACE. 

against  the  "sins  of  a  great  city."  I  ad 
jure  the  young,  "  Be  contented  in  your 
country  homes." 

Dick  Forceps  is  still  at  large,  plying  his 
calling.  He  led  one  young  man  into  a  den 
on  Howard  Street  and  fleeced  him  out  of 
$1,100  in  a  single  night.  He  got  another 
entangled  with  an  actress  to  the  tune  of 
$4,000.  Both  young  men  walk  in  high  cir 
cles.  Madame  Chastini  has  been  several 
times  arrested,  but  never  brought  to  trial. 
She  has  wealthy  bondsmen,  who  are  under 
strong  obligations  to  her;  they  have  mighty 
influence  in  court. 

I  have  omitted  the  chapters  on  the  "  Farce 
of  Court  Square"  and  the  "Burlesque  of 
Justice."  I  may  replace  them  yet.  Still 
my  book  and  lectures  have  done  some  good. 
They  have  opened  the  eyes  of  the  public, 
stirred  the  authorities  to  action,  caused  crim 
inals  in  high  places  to  hide  their  diminished 
heads,  and  some  to  repent  in  dust  and  ashes. 
My  prayer  is,  — 

"UTINAM  DEUS  AUX  ILIARIT  BOSTONIAM." 
Oh  that  God  would  come  to  the  rescue  of 
Boston ! 


PREFACE   TO  THE  TENTH  THOUSAND. 


THE  demand  for  "Boston  Inside  Out" 
echoes  the  key-note  of  an  awakened  nation. 
Issued  in  the  heat  of  summer,  it  reaches  its 
tenth  thousand  before  the  fall  of  the  autumn 
leaf.  Already  in  thirty  States  it  sounds 
notes  of  alarm  against  the  "  sins  of  a  great 
city." 

Still  the  book  is  not  perfect.  Jonathan 
Jerks  met  with  woful  treatment  by  my 
scribes.  Jonathan's  courtship  is  expunged. 
Mrs.  Dawkins  did  not  receive  her  deserts. 
She  gave  me  more  information  on  "  sins  of 
high  life  "  than  all  other  persons. 

The  troubles  of  John  Delaney  were  written 
by  his  own  hand.  I  hold  the  copy.  The 
sworn  facts  of  seven  years  of  priestly  inti 
macy  have  not  been  denied.  Even  Catho 
lics  laugh  at  the  crime  as  a  thing  common 
among  celebates.  "Priests  are  privileged; 
they  have  not  the  comforts  of  family  life. 


PREFACE. 


would  advertise  heavily.  He  did  advertise. 
He  ran  up  the  bill  to  $1,300,  but  refused  to 
pay,  was  sued,  sent  to  jail,  at  last  took  the 
poor  debtor's  oath,  and  the  paper,  paying 
cost  and  board,  got  nothing. 

To  reform  great  cities,  you  must  reform 
the  daily  press.  Its  lightnings  speak  from 
the  ends  of  the  earth ;  its  intelligence  flashes 
with  every  morning  meal.  The  press  is  part 
of  our  being,  our  piety,  our  virtue,  our  life ; 
yet  what  has  done  more  to  corrupt  society? 

"Who  builds  up  the  monopolist?  makes 
the  rich  richer,  the  poor  poorer?  adver 
tising  the  rich  man's  wares  at  half  price, 
charging  the  poor  man  double  ? 

Who  suppresses  the  rich  man's  crimes, 
yet  exposes  the  sins  of  the  poor  and  w^eak? 
Who  praises  temperance  in  theory,  but  al 
ways  throws  its  weight  for  the  liquor  in 
terest?  The  daily  press. 

Who  puffs  to  the  skies  the  lowest  theatres? 
Hires  the  best  reporters  to  write  up  the 
horse  race,  wrestling  match,  prize  fight,  not 
to  expose  them,  but  to  make  them  doubly 
attractive? 

Who  demoralizes  society  by  placing  be 
fore  it  reports  of  every  murder,  robbery,  and 


PREFACE.  XI 

scandal  within  a  thousand  miles,  for  Chris 
tian  family  reading? 

Who  breaks  down  the  Sabbath?  swells 
the  steamboat  and  railroad  excursion?  paints 
in  gaudy  hues  their  wonderful  value  and 
virtue? 

Who  empty  the  churches?  Make  men 
dissatisfied  with  Sabbath  devotions?  Bob 
the  workingman  of  his  rights,  his  Sabbath, 
his  rest,  his  wages,  his  home  hours,  by 
pandering  to  the  greed  of  capitalists? 

Reform  the  press,  and  you  reform  the 
Christian  world!  If  Lucifer,  "Son  of  the 
Morning,"  had  fallen  at  this  late  date,  he 
would  start  a  newspaper,  write  editorials  on 
piety  and  temperance,  get  the  sanction  of 
the  bishop  to  increase  its  circulation  for 
liquor  and  lottery  advertisements.  He  would 
advocate  prohibition ;  then,  just  before 
election,  sell  out  to  the  liquor  party.  Would 
decry  the  aggressions  of  Catholicism,  with 
a  Jesuit  at  the  counter,  and  a  Jesuit  in  the 
chair,  to  suppress  all  church  and  priestly 
scandal.  In  fact,  Lucifer  in  Boston  would 
not  materially  change  the  editorial  status  of 
the  once  Puritan  city. 


XI 1  PREFACE. 

Reform  the  Boston  press,  and  Boston  will 
be  redeemed. 

Seated  on  her  triune  hills,  a  Venice  of  the 
sea,  her  golden  dome  rising  like  a  star  over 
her  island  shores,  day  spring  of  hope  to  the 
oppressed  and  benighted  of  the  Old  World, 
and  pride  of  the  New;  her  intelligence  ra 
diant  with  churches,  schools,  and  colleges 
emblazoned  on  every  New  England  hill,  her 
benedictions  sending  greeting  to  all  her 
children  of  the  far  West,  the  halo  of  her 
glory  travelling  with  the  sun  to  the  Golden 
Gate,  and  setting  with  benign  effulgence  on 
every  distant  New  England  child!  Such 
will  Boston  become  when  reclaimed!  Who 
will  not  be  proud  of  her?  What  child  of 
this  great  Union  will  not  rise  from  his 
knees  to  bless  her?  Hasten  the  time,  O 
God,  when  Boston,  proud  Boston,  shall 
humble  herself  in  the  dust,  repent  of  her 
sins,  be  cleansed  from  her  heaven-defying 
crimes,  rise  from  her  ashes,  and  stand 
among  the  foremost  of  the  cities  of  the 
world ! 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER 


PAOB 


Introductory.    "Why  this  Expose 5 

I.    Outward     Bound.  —  Gil dersleeves    of    Beacon 

Hill 21 

II.    Paris  or  Boston,  Which?  —  Jerks,  Slippers,  Sun 
day  IIorse-Hace 41 

III.  Lecture  in  Boston  Music  Hall.  —  Dark  Revela 

tions  of  Crime ,, 57 

IV.  Gildersleeve  Mansion. —  Servants  in  a  Frolic. ..      71 
V.    Visit  to  Mr.  Gildersleeve's  Office.  — My  Agents 

at  Work 86 

VI.    Midnight  at  the  Huh.  —  My  own  Explorations ..      98 

VII.    On  the  Common.  —  Frank  meets  Minnie 108 

VIII.    Frank  in  the  Dentist's  Office.  —  Minnie  tells  her 

History 116 

IX.    Minnie  at  the  Theatre.  —  Jerks  on  Boston's  Fun,    124 
X.     Frank   and    Forceps   at   Faro   Bank.  —  Jerks 

"  turning  the  Crank  " 132 

XI.    The  Sibyl  invoked.  —  Minnie  has  her  Fortune 

told 142 

XII.    A  Diabolical  Plot.  — Frank  on  his  Knees 152 

XIII.  The  Gildersleeves  at  Home.  —  Dining  and  "Win 

ing  on  Beacon  Hill 163 

XIV.  Minnie's  Troubles.  —  On  the  Brighton  Road 178 

XV.    In  the  Grand   Stand.  —  Jerks  and  Slippers  on 

Trotting  Parks 188 

XVI.    Liberalism  vs.  Catholicism.  —  Mr.    Poindexter 

and  Father  Titus 202 

XVII.    Rose  Delaney  goes  to  Church.  —  Spider  and  Fly,    211 
XVIII.    The  Jealousy  of  a  Niece.  —  Rose's  Temptation 

and  Fall...  .    221 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.    Rose's  Remorse  and  Contrition.  —  Happy  Home 

destroyed  233 

XX.    Madame  Chastini  and  Forceps.  —  Two  Partners 

in  Crime 238 

XXI.    Minnie's  Wedding  Night.  —  Doubts  and  Fears . .     244 

XXII.    Minnie  Deserted.  —  A  Startling  Revelation 256 

XXIII.    Minnie  and    Mrs.   Gildcrsleeve. — Mother    and 

Son 276 

XXIV.    Rose  Delaney  in  the  Toils.  —  Preparation  for  a 

Journey 295 

XXV.    Spiritual  Uncle  and  Niece.  —  A  Visit  to  New 

York 303 

XXVI.    Minnie's  Wanderings. — Alone  in  a  Great  City,    312 
XXVII.    John's  First  Suspicions.  —  Shadows  on  the  Cur 
tain 321 

XXVIII.    Rose's    Confession. — A    Husband's    Terrible 

Grief! 331 

XXIX.    The  Now  Hampshire  Farm.  —  Minnie's  Country 

Home 339 

XXX.    Driven  to  Despair. — Minnie  takes  the   Fatal 

Draught 352 

XXXI.    The  Streets  at  Night.— A  Father's  Search  for 

his  Lost  Lamb 362 

XXXII.    Jerks  and  Sambo  take  a  Stroll.  —  From  Eve  to 

Dawn 372 

XXXIII.  The  Undertaker's  Story.  —  Rev.  John  Marston's 

Gleam  of  Hope 378 

XXXIV.  Frank's  Appe.il  to  his  Mother.  —  Sent  to  the 

Asylum 392 

XXXV.     In  u  Mad-House.  —  Funeral  without  a  Mourner,    411 
XXXVI.    Minnie  found  at  Last.  —  Pathetic  Meeting  of 

Child  and  Parents 423 

XXXVII.    The  Haunted  House.  —  Gertrude's  Visions 433 

XXXVIII.    Jerks    to    the    Rescue.  — The    Proud    Mother 

humbled 446 

XXXIX.    Gertrude's   Infatuation. — A   Convent   or    the 

Tomb 455 

XL.  Last  Night  Alive.  —  Father  Titus's  Tragic  End,  467 
XLI.  Funeral  of  Father  Titus.— Sinners  in  Broadcloth,  481 
XLII.  Cost  of  Boston's  Fun.  —  Fun,  Fun,  Bread  or 

no  Bread 493 


INTRODUCTION. 


WHY   THIS  EXPOSE? 

TRUTH  is  stranger  than  fiction.  Two  years  ago 
if  an  angel  from  heaven  had  told  me  what  I 
have  since  learned  I  should  not  have  believed  the 
report. 

When  I  was  in  Paris,  I  found  it  fashionable 
for  certain  Americans  to  condemn  America ;  for 
Bostonians  even,  to  decry  Boston.  Men  who  had 
obtained  fortunes  by  questionable  means,  some  by 
bogus  stocks,  quackery,  and  shoddy,  some  by 
oppressing  mill  hands,  longest  hours,  shortest 
wages,  some  by  renting  disreputable  houses,  these 
were  first  and  loudest  to  condemn  Boston.  "Worse 
than  Paris!  Worse  than  Paris!  "  said  one  in  our 
Paris  hotel. 

"What!"  said  I,  "Boston  worse  than  Paris! 
Then  I  am  needed  at  home  ;  I  cannot  spend  money 
abroad  with  these  cries  in  my  ears." 

Now  I  had  willed  the  property  acquired  by  my 
lectures  to  the  fraternity  of  churches  in  Boston 
for  carrying  the  gospel  to  the  poor.  My  church, 


(>  INTRODUCTION. 

dwellings,  bank  stock,  with  an  income  of  $3,000 
a  year,  for  preaching. 

What !  Boston  so  bad !  And  the  gospel  so 
inefficient !  Then  I  will  spend  part  of  this  estate 
in  striving  to  reform  Boston  while  I  live.  I  started 
for  home,  and  on  arriving  I  hired  over  fifty  agents 
to  probe  Boston's  sins ;  over  twenty  to  write  up 
the  facts  embodied  in  this  book. 

Not  half  my  facts  have  I  used.  The  most 
.startling  have  been  suppressed.  Some  of  the 
characters  have  been  veiled  to  cover  reputations 
that  suffer,  heads  that  ache,  and  hearts  that  bleed. 
If  no  awakening  is  produced,  no  action  taken  to 
suppress  the  evils  I  expose,  no  warning  note 
sounded  by  pulpit,  press,  or  people,  then  I  shall 
be  heard  again.  Then  I  shall  publish  a  key  of 
these  facts,  also  facts  withheld,  giving  names, 
dates,  places,  and  particulars. 

Among  my  agents  were  ex-officials,  ex-police 
men,  ex-drinkers,  ex-gamblers,  ex-priests,  ex- 
undertakers,  and  ex-hackmen.  Now,  what  a  hack- 
man  don't  know  "  ain't  worth  knowin\" 

One  of  my  agents,  a  female,  visited  the  secret 
lying-in  hospitals  ;  "  baby  farms"  so  called.  These 
are  a  branch  of  husbandry  not  set  down  in  works 
of  agriculture.  Baby  farming  is  a  kind  of  hus 
bandry  where  the  husbands  are  generally  minus, 
non  est  inventus. 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

My  ngent  said  to  one,  "  Have  you  any  children 
you  want  to  get  homes  for  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam.  Walk  right  in.  I  have  got 
five,  the  dearest  little  pets  in  the  world.  Some 
fat,  some  lean,  all  as  lively  as  crickets."  How 
ever,  my  agent  could  find  none  to  suit. 

"  Are  these  all  you  have  ?  " 

"Yes,  all  just  now.  I  have  been  here  only  a 
month." 

"How  many  babies  have  you  received  in  that 
time  ?  " 

"Only  about  thirty;  business,  you  see,  hasn't 
found  me  out  yet.  I  shall  do  better  by  and  by. 
Why,  I  have  cared  for  three  hundred  babies  in  a 
year." 

"  Good  gracious  !  How  benevolent  you  must 
be  ! " 

"Yes,  my  work  is  a  great  charity  !  But  some 
how,  folks  don't  see  it  in  that  light.  Police  are 
ever  on  the  watch,  and  I  have  to  move  often,  you 
see." 

One  of  these  female  physicians  was  arrested  and 
brought  to  court,  one  baby  found  dead  in  the 
room.  The  judge  asked,  "  Have  you  any  di 
ploma  ?  " 

"No,  your  Honor!  My  diploma  is  from  the 
higher  powers.  Mine  is  a  benevolent  institution  ! 
What  would  city  folks  do  without  me?  What 
would  you  do,  Mr.  Judge  ?  " 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

And  the  judge  colored  and  blushed,  and  tried 
to  smile. 

"And  what  would  you  do,  gentlemen  attor- 
neys?" 

And  the  attorneys  blushed  and  tried  to  smile. 
Then  said  the  judge  to  the  attorneys,  "Do  you 
wish  to  persecute  this  poor  woman?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  no  !  your  Honor !  We  wish 
nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  Then  I  will  place  the  case  on  file,  and  let  her 
go  on  her  own  recognizance  without  bail." 

So  she  went  out  with  a  high  head,  has  been  run 
ning  the  same  establishment,  advertising  "board 
and  nursing"  ever  since.  She  declared  in  court 
she  could  have  disposed  of  the  baby  for  a  dollar, 
but  had  neglected  to  do  so. 

Many  of  these  illicit  death-pens,  however,  were 
invaded  and  broken  up.  Babies  were  found  dead 
on  the  floor,  on  the  shelf,  and  in  the  bureau 
drawer. 

Some  visited  the  quack  doctors.  Of  the  two 
hundred  quacks  in  Boston,  only  about  a  dozen 
are  graduates  from  any  institutions,  except  penal 
ones.  Many  have  no  medical  certificate,  except 
from  the  jail.  They  have  been  arrested  for  mur 
der,  prenatal  murder,  passing  obscene  literature 
through  the  mail,  passing  counterfeit  money, 
forgery,  baby  farming,  keeping  disreputable 


INTRODUCTION. 

houses,  and  black-mailing.  Yet  these  are  called 
doctors.  "  Medici  Doctor  es. " 

Some  have  purchased  diplomas  from  bogus 
medical  colleges  at  $5  and  $10  apiece.  One 
graduated  from  a  horse-car,  having  no  certificate 
but  a  bell-punch.  He,  however,  is  not  the  head 
of  an  advertised  institution.  He  left  the  bell- 
punch  when  he  could  n't  make  it  work  to  his 
profit.  One  graduated  from  a  gambling  den, 
then  worked  at  his  trade,  a  painter,  then  turned 
"doctor"  Alas!  for  the  painter's  medical  skill, 
the  first  patient  he  doctored  was  found  dead  in 
his  room.  He  was  taken  to  jail,  but  escaped  for 
lack  of  evidence.  One  boasts  that  ne  has  brought 
2,000  into  the  world,  but  don't  say  how  many  of 
tJtem  were  alive.  He  was  arrested  a  year  ago  for 
malpractice  upon  a  mother  from  Dedham. 

Some  of  these  quacks  are  very  pious.  They 
invoke  the  spirits.  Oiie  was  a  butcher,  who 
cured  by  laying  on  of  hands.  He  touched  the 
lame,  and  "they  did  leap  as  a  hart."  He  retained 
their  crutches  as  tiophies  of  his  healing  power. 
AY  hen  exhausted  he  retired  to  a  private  room  to 
recuperate,  leaving  scores  of  patients  waiting  in 
rows  extending  far  into  the  street.  He  said  he 
retired  to  communicate  witn  the  Spirit,  get  help 
from  on  high.  The  inith  is,  he  communicated 
\vith  a  pocket  battery  charged  will)  electricity. 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

lie  purchased  the  battery  on  Bromfield  Street. 
From  'his  lingers  oozed  the  healing  sparks  of  life. 

Five  dollars  a  touch,  and  five  hundred  touched 
in  a  few  hours  !  It  was  only  to  touch  and  be 
touched,  and  you  are  healed !  Oh,  the  efficacy, 
the  healing  power  of  a  touch  !  Who  would  not 
be  touched,  and  who  would  not  be  healed  for  $5? 

Others  of  iny  agents  visited  the  faro-banks, 
policy  shops,  and  lottery  dens.  I  had  eighteen 
policy  dealers  arrested  at  one  time.  They  were 
indicted  by  the  grand  jury,  but  all  of  them 
escaped  !  Why?  Not  for  lack  of  testimony,  but 
for  lack  of  public  opinion  to  back  the  law  ! 

Churches  were  at  the  same  time  advertising 
lotteries.  Law  cannot  make  fish  of  one  and  flesh 
of  another.  I  therefore  publicly  declared  in 
Boston  Music  Hall  that  "the  first  church  in 
Boston,  of  whatever  sect  or  creed,  that  sets  up, 
advertises,  or  promotes  a  lottery,  shall  be  prose 
cuted  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law." 

The  first  fair  advertised  was  the  Cathedral  Fair 
under  Archbishop  Williams.  A  committee  of 
nine  had  been  appointed  on  "  lotteries" 

I  wrote  an  open  letter  to  the  Archbishop,  stat 
ing  my  vow,  my  determination,  and  reciting  the 
law. 

The  law  says,  "Every  person  who  sells  or 
offers  to  sell  any  ticket,  number,  chance,  or  token 


INTUODUCTION.  11 

by  lottery  or  raffle  is  subject  to  a  fine  not  exceed 
ing  $2,000."  Also,  "Whoever  aids  either  by 
printing,  writing,  advertising,  or  is  in  any  way 
concerned  in  setting  up  a  raffle  or  lottery,  is  sub 
ject  to  the  same  fine."  And  again,  "Whoever 
lets  or  allows  a  building  to  be  used  for  such  pur 
poses  is  also  liable." 

Now  it  may  be  said,  "  These  lotteries  are  for 
charity." 

Yes,  but  no  Christian  would  lie  or  steal  for 
charity.  Then  why  gamble?  Gambling  is  a 
worse  evil  than  theft.  It  causes  more  deaths  than 
murder.  It  poisons  a  larger  class ;  is  harder  to 
suppress.  I  can  name  six  recent  suicides  in  and 
around  Boston,  all  from  gambling.  These  are 
more  than  all  the  murders  in  the  State  during 
the  same  time.  Some  took  their  first  lessons  at 
the  church  fair. 

"  But  we  want  money  !  Must  have  it !  "  Ay  ! 
And  what  church  can  command  more  money  than 
the  Catholic?  The  richest  organization  on  the 
face  of  the  globe.  The  whole  Democratic  party 
bows  to  its  bidding.  It  holds  the  political  purse- 
strings  of  the  nation.  One  sixteenth  of  the  taxes 
of  New  York  City  are  paid  to  the  church.  Mayors 
and  governors  are  its  tools.  Let  Tammany's 
chief  come  to  Boston  Theatre  on  Sunday  night, 
and  all  the  leading  State  and  city  officials  must 


1 2  INTRODUCTION. 

play  "figure-head"  to  the  ceremony.  No  church 
is  so  exempt  from  taxation.  Millions  upon  mill 
ions  of  property  .untaxed  !  The  church  in  which 
this  fair  was  held  is  untaxed,  though  not  now  used 
for  religious  worship.  While  my  church,  always 
open  for  worship,  is  taxed  to  the  utmost  limit. 

When  the  Cathedral  fair  opened,  my  agents 
were  on  hand  to  buy  tickets. 

"  Who  are  these  tickets  for  ?  " 

"For  Mr.  Morgan." 

"  For  what  purpose?" 

"  He  wishes  to  execute  the  laws  against  raffling." 

"  Very  well.  Tell  Mr.  Morgan  he  need  not 
trouble  himself  further.  Public  opinion  and  the 
laws  shall  be  respected." 

That  night  lottery  tickets  were  withdrawn  and 
the  "wheels  of  fortune"  turned  upside  down. 
Afterwards,  however,  there  were  "shares"  sold, 
but  not  such  as  came  within  the  letter  of  the  law. 
Thus  the  Catholics  yielded  to  public  sentiment. 

When  the  gamblers  combined  to  deprive  me  of 
Boston  Music  Hall,  when  the  quack  doctors  had 
sued  me  for  $10,000,  putting  an  attachment  on 
my  church,  the  excuse  for  closing  the  hall  was 
that  I  had  offended  the  Catholics.  They  would 
raise  a  mob  and  "run  off  with  the  big  organ!"  I 
said,  "  This  is  a  mistake.  The  Catholics  are  my 
friends.  My  night-school  boys,  bootblacks,  and 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

newsboys  were  mostly  Catholics.  The  man  that 
helped  me  repair  my  church  more  than  all  others, 
giving  a  thousand  dollars  to  the  work,  was 
a  Catholic.  The  men  that  have  written  me  more 
congratulatory  letters  on  church  reform  —  more 
than  I  have  received  from  all  other  sects  com 
bined —  are  also  Catholics. 

The  advanced  Catholic  sees  danger  to  the 
church.  Infidelity  has  become  a  colossal  giant. 
It  says,  "Churches  shall  be  taxed,  and  more, 
the  church  that  degrades  manhood,  undermines 
public  schools,  breeds  ignorant  paupers  and 
drunkards,  is  a  tool  for  demagogues,  votes 
solidly  with  the  lawless,  that  church  shall  come 
under  a  ban !  A  united  church  to  any  party  is 
more  dangerous  than  a  united  South,  Jesuits  in 
America  shall  be  treated  like  Jesuits  in  republi 
can  France." 

Now  the  above  charges  are  not  all  true,  but 
they  have  a  grain  of  truth.  Nothing  but  a  puri 
fied  priesthood  can  save  the  church.  In  these 
pages  I  have  pictured  only  one  delinquent  priest, 
and  that  in  faint  colors.  I  have  chosen  that  one 
because  of  his  high  position.  Circumstances  may 
compel  me  to  paint  not  only  one,  but  twenty, 
and  in  full  colors,  giving  habits,  location,  and 
names.  Heaven  spare  me  the  task  ! 

Treasurers   must  be  appointed  for  the   church 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

under  a  legal  corporation.  Uncounted  millions  in 
hands  of  irresponsible  priests  are  too  great  a 
temptation  !  Most  of  the  churches  are  mortgaged 
clear  up  to  the  eaves.  Fairs  are  held,  money 
raised,  but  the  mortgage  hardly  ever  lifted. 
Where  goes  the  money  ?  I  could  tell  a  tale  that 
would  startle  the  public  ear,  and  awaken  indig 
nation  threatening  and  appalling,  but  I  forbear. 
If  this  book  shall  put  the  priesthood  on  their 
guard,  lessen  the  number  of  nameless  luxuries, 
awaken  the  church  to  duty,  then  my  work  is 
done.  Catholics  as  a  whole  are  still  my  friends. 

Now,  how  about  the  managers  of  the  Old  South 
Fair?  Well,  they  showed  their  mettle!  They 
boldly  advertised  and  advocated  lotteries.  In 
their  organ,  the  "  Dial,"  edited  by  Miss  Susan 
Hale,  they  said :  "  We  advocate  the  most  un 
shrinking,  wholesale,  deliberate  course  of  ruffling, 
for  small  things  or  large  things,  for  shares  many 
or  few,  at  prices  of  five  cents  or  five  dollars." 
And  this  done  when  the  Federal  government  was 
exerting  all  its  powers  to  expel  lottery-tickets 
from  the  mails.  Such  is  Boston's  high-toned 
morality  !  And  the  managers  proceeded  with  the 
rafHes. 

On  a  former  occasion  they  christened  their 
tables  with  pious  names :  "  Trinity  Raffle,  No. 
34 ;  Episcopal  Raffle,  No.  89  ;  South  Congrega- 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

tional  Raffle,  No.  65 ;  Universalist  Raffle,  No. 
132."  Hard  on  the  Universalists  !  Theirs  was 
the  highest  number !  So  much  for  the  ethics  of 
high  society  I 

This  same  "cultured"  society  attempted  to 
reform  the  stage.  Hard  thing  to  reform,  by  the 
way !  To  raise  money  a  play  was  advertised. 
Xow  I  am  in  for  reform,  so  I  gave  my  dollar  for 
a  ticket,  —  the  first  dollar  I  ever  gave  for  the 
theatre.  But  what  was  the  play?  To  my  sur 
prise  it  was  "Rip  Van  Winkle!"  The  curtain 
went  up  and  out  came  Rip  —  tight  as  a  brick. 
"Here  's  to  your  health  (hie!  hie!}  and  all  your 
family  !  May  you  live  long  and  prosper  !  "  He 
staggered  through  two  acts,  then  fell  asleep.  He 
slept  twenty  years.  But  twenty  years'  soaking 
didn't  reform  him.  He  awoke,  was  up  and  went 
at  it  again  !  "  Here's  to  your  health,"  etc. 

Now  that  was  a  play  to  elevate  the  stage.  The 
stage  did  n't  get  elevated,  but  the  players  did ! 
They  took  the  money  and  went  to  Parker's. 
They  dined  and  wined,  and  they  toasted.  "  Here  's 
to  your  health !  May  you  live  long  and  pros 
per  !  "  That  is  the  last  we  have  heard  of  the 
reform  or  the  money. 

Now  these  people  are  the  upper-crust  of  society. 
But  upper-crusts  and  under-crusts  meet  at  the 
edges.  Upper-crusts  of  Beacon  Hill,  under- 


18  INTRODUCTION. 

crusts  of  North  Street,  —  one  of  wine,  the  other 
of  whiskey. 

When  the  Old  South  Fair  opened,  my  agents 
purchased  fifteen  dollars'  worth  of  tickets.  I 
went  before  Judge  Parmenter  and  asked  for  a 
warrant.  He  said  ho  "  did  not  think  it  for  the 
interest  of  good  morals  to  arrest  the  deacons  of 
Old  South  Church."  I  said,  "Deacons  or  no 
deacons,  they  should  not  break  the  law  !  "  But 
they  are  more  than  deacons.  They  are  "  blue- 
bloods."  However,  he  refused  to  issue  a  warrant. 
I  then  asked  Gov.  Long  to  recommend  in  his 
message  an  act  for  the  "  better  execution  of  the 
law  against  gaming."  This  he  did.  I  came  before 
the  Judiciary  Committee  with  my  facts.  I  gave 
terrible,  startling  facts ;  so  startling  that  I  was 
silenced  until  the  head  of  the  police  was  called  to 
meet  me  face  to  face.  He  at  first  refused ;  pre 
ferred  a  hearing  in  private.  When  at  last  com 
pelled  to  appear,  he  admitted  most  of  my  facts ; 
confessed  that  he  had  a  list  of  all  the  brothels  and 
gambling  dens,  but  did  not  think  it  his  duty  to 
suppress  them  !  Heaven  save  the  mark  ! 

Never  was  there  such  need  of  reform  as  to-day. 
Never  in  the  world's  history  was  so  much  liquor 
drank  as  now.  Never  scepticism  so  brazen. 
Never  were  American  pulpits  so  silent  toward 
the  gigantic  sins  of  the  age.  Never  so  many  cul- 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

tured  rascals.  Never  such  a  rage  for  the  trashiest 
kind  of  theatricals.  Never  such  demand  for 
senseless  novels.  Never  such  madness  for  gam 
ing.  Never  were  lotteries  so  freely  advertised. 
Never  such  a  mania  for  church  raffling.  Never 
such  laxness  in  the  execution  of  law.  Never  such 
Sunday  desecration.  No  wonder  vice  abounds  ! 
Look  at  Boston's  priesthood!  Over  $100,000 
spent  by  ecclesiastics  alone  in  one  year  for  cigars, 
wine,  women,  and  horses !  Clergy  of  the  finest 
cloth,  belonging  to  drinking  clubs !  In  high 
circles  sin  is  considered  not  a  trangression,  but  a 
disease  !  If  a  man  knocks  you  down  and  breaks 
your  head,  he  needs  the  plaster,  not  you  !  If 
he  steals  at  your  back  door,  you  must  feed  him 
at  your  front  door,  and  "  no  questions  asked." 
This  is  the  sentimentalised  that  nurses  crime. 
Ask  them  how  much  a  man  may  drink,  and  stilj 
be  a  "  good,  temperance  man  !  "  How  much  he 
may  swear,  and  yet  be  a  w  pious  man  ! "  How 
much  ho  may  gamble,  and  yet  be  a  "  high-toned, 
cultured  gentleman  !  "  How  many  houses  he  may 
let  for  disreputable  purposes,  and  yet  be  one  of 
"  our  best  society  !  "  How  many  liquor-shops  he 
may  have  open  Sunday,  and  yet  be  a  "pillar  of 
the  church ! "  How  demoralizing  a  theatre  may 
be,  and  yet  be  pronounced  "pure  and  chaste,  fit 
for  our  wives  and  daughters  !  "  How  far  depraved 
2 


18  INTRODUCTION. 

genius  may  descend  toward  the  pit,  yet  be  lauded 
to  the  skies  ! 

Now  the  great  wants  of  the  age  are  the  "Boan 
erges  of  Thunder!"  Henry  Ward  Beecher  once 
filled  the  bill.  When  preaching  on  the  prairie, 
acting  his  own  sexton,  ringing  his  own  bell, 
preaching  and  lecturing  to  young  men,  thunder 
ing  against  Gambling,  Drinking,  Licentiousness, 
delivering  lectures  that  electrified  a  continent ! 
These  placed  him  on  the  highest  pedestal  of  en 
nobled  manhood  !  Such  was  Beecher  in  his  youth  ! 
Alas  !  how  have  the  mighty  fallen !  How  have 
the  voices  of  warning  become  hushed  ! 

"  Oh  !  Why  did  n't  you  warn  me  ?  "  said  a 
dying  young  man  to  his  pastor  on  Beacon  Hill. 
"  If  you  only  had  warned  me,  showed  me  my  dan 
ger,  I  should  not  be  dying  of  delirium  tremens. 
You  knew  my  weakness.  Oh  !  why  did  you  not 
warn  me  ?  But  you  drank  with  me  and  encour 
aged  me  to  drink  !  " 

What  a  fearful  responsibility  rests  upon  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel !  "  I  have  made  thee  a 
watchman !  If  thou  speakest  not  to  warn  the 
wicked,  and  he  die  in  his  iniquity,  then  his  blood, 
his  blood!  will  I  require  at  thy  hand."  Men  are 
not  so  bad,  so  wicked,  as  they  are  thoughtless  and 
blind.  They  need  caution,  they  need  warning 
with  a  trumpet's  voice. 


INTRODUCTION.  19 

The  brother  of  New  England's  greatest  preacher, 
himself  a  minister,  was  walking  on  a  bridge  from 
Charlestown  to  Boston,  He  was  brought  up  in 
Boston  and  thought  he  knew  the  way.  The  high 
way  has  a  drawbridge  ;  a  lantern,  flag,  gate,  and  a 
watchman  to  give  alarm.  The  railroad  has  neither. 
This  preacher,  instead  of  taking  the  highway,  — 
walked  on  the  railroad  track,  took  the  wrong  road. 
It  was  in  the  mist  of  evening.  Rapt  in  thought, 
and  in  darkness,  he  stepped  one  step  too  far,  A 
cry,  a  groan,  a  splash,  a  shriek,  and  that  noble 
minister  was  gone  forever,  lost  to  the  church  and 
to  the  world !  Why  was  there  no  flag,  no  warn 
ing?  Ahi  He  was  on  forbidden  ground  ! 

Oh !  young  man  1  stop  !  stop !  That  is  thy  con 
dition  !  You  are  on  forbidden  ground  I  Stop ! 
Stop !  The  abyss  is  open !  You  are  on  the 
wrong  road !  You  are  nearing  the  brink  when 
you  take  the  first  glass,  play  the  first  game  !  The 
drawbridge  is  open !  Soon  a  shriek,  a  plunge, 
and  all  will  be  over !  Oh !  stop !  stop !  and 
think,  before  yon  fall  to  rise  no  more ! 

A  conductor  on  the  train  from  Hartford  to 
Waterbury,  Ct.,  felt  his  car  oif  the  track !  What 
did  he  do?  He  rang  the  bell,  seized  the  brake, 
and  with  his  own  hands  held  it  until  the  cars 
collided,  and  he  was  mortally  wounded.  Know 
ing  that  he  could  not  live  three  minutes,  what 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

were  his  last  thoughts?  What  did  ho  do?  He 
still  held  the  brake  with  one  hand,  waved  the 
other  hand,  and  with  dying  breath  whispered, 
"  Set  the  signal!  Set  the  signal  for  the  coming 
train  I  There's  another  train  coming!  Oh!  set 
{the  signal/  /Set  the  signal!  /Stop  the  coming 
train!"  And  like  a  faithful  watchman,  he  fell 
dead  at  his  post ! 

Now,  why  do  I  reveal  Boston's  dark  -ways? 
"Why  expose  her  snares,  pitfalls,  and  forbidden 
paths?  It  is  to  warn  the  unwary!  To  awaken 
fathers  and  mothers  to  their  children's  danger ! 
to  a  sense  of  duty !  To  fire  the  pulpit  with 
alarm !  To  arouse  the  church,  the  press,  and 
public  opinion.  Oh !  fathers  and  mothers,  set 
the  signal  for  the  coming  train !  For  your 
children  and  your  children's  children  1  For  gen 
erations  yet  unborn !  The  forests  are  cleared, 
the  road-bed  raised,  the  bridge  is  built,  yet  the 
track  is  ajar !  Lo,  the  cars  are  coming !  Your 
neighbors  and  your  neighbors'  children !  Oh  ! 
set  the  signal !  Set  the  signal  for  the  coming- 
train  !  Wave  the  flag !  Swing  the  lantern ! 
Lift  the  voice  1  Sound  the  whistle  I  Ring  the 
bell !  DOWN  BRAKES  !  DOWN  BRAKES  !  Danger 
ahead  !  Friends  and  loved  ones  are  at  the  brink  ! 
Ho !  to  the  rescue !  to  the  rescue !  Set  the 
signal !  Set  the  signal  for  the  coming  train ! 


BOSTOJf  INSIDE   OUT. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

OUTWARD   BOUND.  —  GILDERSLEEVES    OF    BEACON 
HILL. 

"I  SWAN!"  said  Jonathan  Jerks.  "What  an 
everlastin'  crowd.  Should  think  everybody  was 
a  goin'  ter  the  Paris  Exposition.  Hullo  !  Is  that 
you,  Sam  Slocum?  Why,  how  du  you  du? 
Come  down  ter  see  a  fellow  off,  hey?  That's 
right  clever,  now,  I  swow  ter  gracious  !  Well, 
good  by,  good  by !  Take  care  of  yourself, 
my  boy.  Remember  me  ter  all  the  folks.  Tell 
Gaddy  I'm  goin'  ter  bring  her  somethin'  pooty 
home  from  Paris.  Good  by  !  Good  by  !  " 

The  speaker  stood  in  the  gangway  of  the  Eng 
lish  steamer  just  clearing  for  Liverpool.  He  was 
a  genuine  Yankee  from  the  Old  Granite  State, 
with  all  the  peculiarities  of  that  nearly  extin 
guished  character;  with  its  keen,  native  shrewd 
ness,  its  original  sly  humor,  its  sturdy  independ 
ence,  together  with  the  added  characteristic  which 


22  OUTWARD    BOUND. 

he  had  of  twisting  his  head,  twitching  his  eye  and 
jerking  his  hand  as  if  turning  a  crank. 

Beside  him  stood  a  man  of  an  opposite  stamp. 
He  belonged  to  what  maybe  called  the  "ornamen 
tal  "  order  of  society.  He  was  foppishly  dressed, 
and  fairly  glittered  with  diamonds  and  jewelry. 
His  features  were  soft  and  effeminate,  his  hair 
was  parted  exactly  in  the  middle,  his  corn-col 
ored  mustache  was  tastefully  curled  at  the  ends. 
II is  affected  manner  and  his  eye-glass  constantly 
in  hand,  together  with  the  embroidered  slippers 
usually  on  his  feet,  obtained  for  him  the  cogno 
men  of  "Eyeglass  Slippers." 

I  was  standing  by  the  companion-way  when  he 
approached  and  said,  with  a  lisp  and  a  fashionable 
drawl,— 

"  Ah  !  There  ith  no  doot  thothiety  in  America. 
No  culture  except  in  Boston.  Oh !  how  I  long 
for  la  belle  France !  " 

Just  then  a  fine-looking  elderly  gentleman,  with 
an  unmistakable  air  of  good  breeding  and  high 
social  standing,  got  out  of  a  carriage  which  had 
driven  up  at  great  speed,  and  hastily  approached 
the  steamer.  He  was  followed  by  a  young  man 
of  twenty  or  thereabouts,  whose  resemblance  to 
himself  at  once  proclaimed  close  relationship. 
They  were  Augustus  and  Frank  Gildersleeve, 
father  and  son.  A  bell  at  that  moment  sounded, 


GILDERSLEEVES   OF    BEACON   HILL.  23 

"  We  arc  just  in  the  nick  of  lime,  Frank,"  said 
the  father,  edging  his  way  through  the  opposing 
tide  of  visitors  who  were  hurrying  to  make  their 
exit  from  the  steamer.  "I  hope  your  mother  and 
sister  have  hud  no  delay,  I  trust  they  have  got 
on  board." 

"They  are  here,  father,"  said  the  young  man, 
"  for  there  comes  their  escort,  Mr.  Sparkler." 

"How  do,  Mr.  Gilderthleeve  !"  said  Mr.  Spark 
ler,  otherwise  "Eyeglass  Slippers,"  as  he  met 
them.  "How  do,  Frank?  Mrs.  Gilderthleeve 
and  Mith  Gertwood  are  awaiting  you  in  the  tha- 
loon." 

Down  in  the  saloon  Gertrude  Gildersleeve  at 
this  moment  was  conversing  with  a  short,  stout 
man,  whose  smooth,  beardless  face  and  clerical 
garb  proclaimed  him  to  be  a  churchman.  His 
sleek,  unctuous  countenance  was  lighted  up  with 
a  pleasant  and  agreeable  smile  as  he  listened  to 
Miss  Gildersleeve. 

"This  is  indeed  a  great  surprise,  Father  Titus," 
she  said,  while  the  priest  still  held  her  hand. 
"You  are  going,  then,  to  Europe  with  us?" 

"Yes,  my  child,"  returned  the  priest.  "I  am 
on  my  way  to  Rome  for  a  brief  visit,  and  to  pay 
my  obeisances  to  the  holy  father.  We  shall  have 
an  opportunity  for  many  pleasant  conferences 
during  the  voyage,  I  sincerely  trust,  my  daughter." 


24  OUTWARD    BOUNI>. 

"Yes,  dear  father,"  said  Gertrude,  who,  it  should 
be  said,  had  been  partially  educated  at  a  fashion 
able  school  in  Boston,  over  which  Father  Titus 
exercised  some  supervisory  control,  "  nothing 
could  have  given  me  more  delight  than  the  benefit 
of  thus  having  the  advantage  of  your  counsels. 
For  oh !  father,  there  is  much  that  I  wish  to  ask 
you." 

Poor  Gertrude !  She  was  starving  for  the 
spiritual  bread  of  life.  One  look  from  that  priest 
was  a  benediction  to  her. 

"You  are  advancing  in  grace,  I  see,  my  daugh 
ter  ;  but  I  must  leave  you  for  the  present,  as  I 
perceive  your  father  and  brother  are  coming  this 
way." 

So  saying,  the  priest  departed  hurriedly,  going 
up  on  deck,  where  the  last  signal  is  just  sounding. 

And  now  ensues  the  usual  affecting  parting 
scenes.  Now  the  last  word  is  said,  the  last  fond 
caress  exchanged.  The  monster  ship  throbs  with 
the  moving  machinery.  Her  head  slowly  turns  to 
the  sea.  The  band  strikes  up  the  sadly  tender 
strains  of  "  Sweet  Home,"  changing  to  "A  Life  on 
the  Ocean  Wave,"  as,  amid  the  shouts  and  cheers 
and  waving  of  hats  and  handkerchiefs  from  the 
hundreds  who  lined  the  pier,  the  steamer  majes 
tically  glides  out  into  the  channel. 

A  tender  had  been  chartered  to  accompany  us 


GILDERSLEEVES    OF    BEACON    HILL.  25 

down  the  harbor  with  music  and  song,  giving 
cheer  upon  cheer.  Q3ut  many  a  heart  was  too  sad 
to  respond ;  each  looking  back  toward  friends 
and  homes  now  receding,  perhaps  forever,  from 
view. 

"I  swanny  !  "  said  Jonathan  Jerks  to  me,  as  we 
stood  leaning  against  the  taffrail,  straining  our 
eyes  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of  the  fast  receding 
shores, — "  I  swanny  !  I  never  felt  so  bad  to  leave 
home  before  in  my  life." 

And  the  honest  Yankee  brushed  away  a  tear  as 
he  spoke. 

"Shust  how  I  feels  mineself,"  said  a  stout  Ger 
man,  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully.  "I  hash  ter 
leave  mine  vrow  Katerina,  und  der  leedle  vons  ; 
und  it  make  me  vot  you  calls  homeshick.  Yaw, 
das  ish  so  !  " 

That  night,  in  my  cabin,  I  found  that  ocean 
travel  subjects  one  to  strange  companions.  The 
steamer  was  unusually  crowded.  Occupying  the 
berth  over  mine  was  a  whiskey  trader,  from 
Frankfort,  Ky.,  a  son  of  the  Emerald  Isle.  He 
was  carrying  home  samples  of  his  distilled  poison 
to  introduce  to  his  relatives  and  acquaintance 
living  on  the  "old  sod." 

In  the  berths  beside  the  Irishman  was  a  Cuban 
slaveholder,  who  spent  the  voyage  in  drinking 
brandy  and  decrying  America.  He  and  Jerk.-i 


26  OUTWARD    BOUND. 

had  many  a  sharp  tilt.  There  was  also  a  wealthy 
brewer  from  California. 

Each  of  these  persons  had  provided  himself 
with  liquors  in  boundless  profusion.  Cases  and 
trunks  containing  whiskey  and  brandy  filled  every 
available  space.  The  first  business  of  the  night 
was  to  unload  the  liquors.  Soon  glasses  were 
clicking,  and  bottle  after  bottle  was  emptied. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  stimulants,  all  hands, 
utter  strangers  a  few  hours  before,  were  hobnob 
bing,  laughing,  and  talking  like  old  friends. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  a  keg  of 
whiskey  tied  to  my  bedpost.  In  fact,  I  was  sur 
rounded  by  whiskey.  My  situation  can  best  be 
described  in  the  words  of  Tennyson,  slightly 
varied :  — 

"  Whiskey  to  right  of  me, 
Whiskey  to  left  of  me, 
Whiskey  in  front  of  me, 

Enough  for  six  hundred!  " 

I  noticed  that  Jerks  withstood  all  invitations  to 
drink,  though  he  mingled  in  the  conversation. 

"  I  swow ! "  he  whispered  to  me,  with  his 
habitual  jerk  of  the  head  and  twitch  of  the  eye, 
"this  is  what  you  call  high  life,  I  suppose.  High 
life  with  a  vengeance  /  should  say.  If  you  will 
take  my  word  for  it,  neighbor,  two  thirds  of  the 
folks  on  this  boat  are  seasick,  and  the  sicker  they 


GILDERSLEEVES    OF   BEACON   HILL.  27 

get  the  more  they  drink.  Just  look  at  these  men 
now.  The  ship  heaves,  and  —  so  do  they.  Then 
they  take  another  swig  of  whiskey,  then  heave 
ho.  again  !  " 

Jerks  was  a  comical  genius,  full  of  anecdote 
and  story,  and  made  himself  at  home  in  any  com 
pany.  He  was  a  man  of  varied  information,  and 
possessed  of  such  plain  common-sense,  dashed 
with  a  vein  of  homely  philosophy,  that  he  was 
seldom  worsted  in  an  argument.  Generally  he 
got  the  best  of  it.  That  jerk  of  the  hand  of  his 
was  an  argument  in  itself.  It  carried  conviction 
'n  every  gyration. 

As  the  voyage  lengthened,  Jonathan  became  a 
popular  personage  with  all  on  board.  The  bonds 
of  social  restraint  are  relaxed  during  a  sea-voy 
age.  In  cabin  and  on  deck  gambling  and  drink 
ing  were  indulged  in  openly  and  without  stint. 

"  Look  a-here,  Mr.  Gildersleeve,"  said  Jerks, 
one  day,  ''this  is  another  phase  of  high  life,  I 
suppose  !  They  don't  drink  and  bet  money  like 
this  'ere  in  Boston,  do  they?" 

"  Well,  not  quite  so  publicly,  perhaps,"  said 
Mr.  Gildersleeve,  good-humoredly,  "  but  men's 
passions  and  appetites  are  probably  the  same  in 
Boston  as  they  are  elsewhere." 

"But  I  have  allers  been  told  that  law  and 
decency  are  better  observed  and  more  strictly 


28  OUTWARD    BOUND. 

enforced  there  than  in  other  cities,"  said  Jonathan. 
"Xow,  I've  been  pooty  well  over  the  United 
States,  and  I  swan  !  I  never  yet  saw  any  worse 
contempt  for  the  ordinances  and  decencies  of 
respectable  society,  even  on  board  a  Mississippi 
flat-boat,  than  on  this  here  steamer !  Look 
a-there  now  !  " 

The  Yankee  pointed  to  a  group  of  three  or  four 
gentlemen  seated  at  a  table  in  the  smoking-room. 
They  were  playing  cards.  Little  heaps  of  silver 
and  gold  before  them,  told  that  their  sport  was 
far  from  being  an  innocent  one. 

Standing  near  by,  and  watching  the  fluctuations 
of  the  game  with  an  eager,  absorbed  interest,  was 
young  Frank  Gildersleeve. 

"Look  a-there,  now,"  continued  Jerks.  "Just 
see  how  your  son  is  interested  in  that  game  of 
cards.  A  likely  young  lad  Mr.  Frank  seems  to 
IK'  :  honest,  good-tempered,  and,  I  should  judge, 
high-minded,  too  ;  but  ef  he  was  a  boy  of  mine, 
sir,  I  should  hate  to  see  such  a  temptation  as  that 
placed  often  in  his  Avay.  See  how  his  eyes  kindle  ! 
See  how  he  bends  over  them  gamblers  !  Just  as 
ef  his  very  soul  was  on  fire  to  take  a  hand  in  the 
pinie.  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  ef  I  was  you  I 
wouldn't  lose  no  time  in  giving  him  a  caution 
about  ever  playin'  a  card  for  money." 

"  Xo   need  of  asking  pardon,   friend  Jerks  ;  I 


GILDERSLEEVES    OF   BEACOX    HILL.  29 

take  no  offence  at  such  well-meant  freedom,"  said 
Augustus  Gihlcrsleeve  ;  but  Jonathan's  words  had 
evidently  disquieted  him.  "  Frank  is  above  Ik1 
usual  temptations  of  his  age.  He  has  always 
money  at  command,  and  need  never  try  such  a 
foolish  and  desperate  hazard  as  gambling  to  fill 
his  purse." 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Gildersleeve  did  not  foil  to 
talk  long  and  earnestly  with  his  only  son  on  the 
subject  before  they  retired  that  night. 

Jerks  saw  with  equal  concern  that  the  young 
man  was  assailed  by  another  temptation,  which  he 
felt  less  free  to  mention. 

He  saw  that  Mr.  Gildersleeve  habitually  used 
wine  and  liquors  at  table,  and  that  Frank  was 
never  checked  or  admonished  when  following  his 
father's  example. 

"  That  boy  has  got  a  genuine  taste  for  strong 
drink,  I  swanny  !  "  said  Jonathan  to  himself,  shak 
ing  his  head  and  twitching  his  hand  as  usual 
when  very  much  in  earnest,  "and  I  lose  my  guess  ef 
he  don't  succumb  to  it,  unless  somebody  gives  him 
a  powerful  warnin'.  Too  bad  !  too  bad  !  I  swan, 
I  'in  half  a  mind  to  speak  to  the  lad  myself.  It 's 
no  use  sayiir  any  thin'  to  Mr.  Gildersleeve.  The 
mother,  too,  is  one  of  them  hard,  cold,  fash'nable 
sort  of  women.  It  is  plaguy  little  good,  sound, 
motherly  counsel  young  Frank  ever  gits  from  her, 
I  '11  guarantee." 


30  OUTWARD    BOUND. 

"  \Yhat  are  you  muttering  about  so  earnestly, 
Mr.  Jerks?  '"  said  a  sweet  voice  at  his  elbo\v. 

Turning,  Jonathan  perceived  the  smiling,  beau 
tiful  face  of  Gertrude  Gildersleeve. 

She  was  very  young,  hardly  seventeen,  and 
somehow  she  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  the  hon 
est  Yankee. 

Gertrude's  sweet  disposition,  unspoiled  not 
withstanding  the  influence  and  teachings  of  a 
fashionable  mother,  had  charmed  Jerks  from  the 
first.  Between  Jonathan  and  the  young  heiress, 
therefore,  a  singular  but  none  the  less  sincere  con 
fidence  had  already  sprung  up. 

"You  were  saying  something  about  my  dear 
brother,  Mr.  Jerks,"  Gertrude  went  on,  in  a  sport 
ive  tone.  "I  am  sure  I  heard  you  mention  his 
name  in  your  self-communings." 

"Well,  yes,  I  must  allow  you  are  right,  Miss 
Gertrude,"  said  Jonathan.  "  I  was  thinkin'  what 
a  smart,  manly  young  fellow  your  brother  Frank 
was." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Jerks,  for  praising  my  dear 
brother.  I  am  very  fond  of  Frank,  and  like  to 
hear  him  spoken  well  of." 

She  said  the  words  so  gently,  and  with  such  a 
tender  affection  beaming  in  her  dove-like  eyes, 
that  Jerks  really  envied  Frank  Gildersleeve. 

"I  was  only  regrettin'  one  thing  about  Mr. 
Frank,"  Jonathan  continued. 

I 


GILDERSLEEVES    OF   BEACON    HILL.  31 

"And  what  is  that,  dear  Mr.  Jerks?" 

"That  I  fear  he  has  got  strong  passions  which 
oughter  to  have  as  strong  a  curb.  But  I  am  for- 
gettin' myself,  Miss  Gertrude.  This  isn't  a  proper 
subject  to  bring  to  a  sister's  knowledge." 

"And  why  not?"  said  Gertrude,  earnestly,  and 
placing  her  little  hand  on  her  companion's  arm. 
•*  Sardy,  anj'thing  that  concerns  an  only  brother's 
welfare  is  of  deepest  interest  to  a  sister.  I  love 
my  brother  very  dearly,  Mr.  Jerks ;  and  no  one 
would  strive  for  his  good  more  earnestly  and 
prayerfully  than  myself." 

"Then  I  beseech  you,  my  dear  young  lady," 
answered  Jonathan,  wirh  deep  feeling,  "  to  warn 
Mr.  Frank  against  what  I  am  afraid  is  his  beset 
ting  sin." 

"Ah  !  you  refer  to  his  habit  of  drinking  wine?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Gertrude,  your  innocent  life  has 
never  exhibited  or  brought  home  to  you  the  evils 
of  a  habit  which  grows  by  what  it  feeds  on,  until, 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  it  leads  its  poor  victim 
to  an  untimely  and  an  unhonored  grave." 

At  moments  of  strong  feeling,  Jonathan  insen 
sibly  elevated  his  language,  almost  entirely  drop 
ping  his  usual  vernacular  style. 

"  I  have  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  in  con 
nection  with  Frank,"  said  Gertrude.  "  Though  I 
never  take  wine  myself,  because  perhaps  I  have  a 


'62  OUTWARD   BOUND. 

natural  distaste  for  it,  yet  from  childhood  I  have 
been  so  familiar  to  seeing  it  used  before  me,  that 
I  have  never  associated  with  it  such  evils  as  you 
describe.  But  oh  !  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Jerks,  more 
than  I  can  express  !  I  will  speak  to  Frank,  and 
urge  him  with  all  the  power  of  a  sister's  love,  to 
give  up  such  a  dangerous  practice,  —  but  there  is 
my  mother  beckoning  to  me." 

And  with  a  sweet,  though  somewhat  sad  smile, 
the  young  girl  left  him  and  joined  Mrs.  Gilder- 
sleeve. 

"Gertrude,"  said  that  lady,  in  severe  tones  of 
reproof,  "  I  wonder  what  you  can  see  so  attractive 
in  that  man.  I  am  surprised  and  mortified  beyond 
measure  at  your  conduct.  Remember  your  posi 
tion  and  station,  my  child.  The  daughter  of 
Augustus  Gildersleeve  associating  with  a  pork 
merchant,  or  a  low,  ignorant  farmer,  or  whatever 
he  may  be  !  For  shame  !  " 

"But  Mr.  Jerks  is  neither  low  nor  ignorant, 
mamma,"  said  Gertrude,  sweetly ;  "  and  besides, 
General  Grant  was  only  a  tanner,  and  that  dear, 
noble  Abraham  Lincoln  was  a  canal  boatman. 
And  you  know,  dear  mamma,"  she  added  with  an 
arch  look,  "  that  Grandpa  Gildersleeve  started 
very  low  down  in  the  social  scale." 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  did  not  deign  to  make  any 
reply  to  this  home  thrust ;  and,  during  the  re- 


GILDKRSLEEVES    OF    BEACON    HILL.  33 

mainder  of  the  voyage,  she  forbore  to  return  to 
the  subject. 

In  due  time  we  arrived  in  Liverpool. 

"  Hullo ! "  said  Jerks,  as  we  walked  along 
toward  our  hotel,  "  what's  this  old  fellow 
a-doin'?" 

He  pointed  to  an  elderly,  well-clad  man  sitting, 
hat  in  hand,  on  the  sidewalk,  while  artistically 
chalked  in  large  letters  in  front  of  him  was  the 
word  "  ADVERSITY." 

"  I  swanny ! "  cried  Jonathan,  "  is  this  the 
way  they  beg  in  England?  Why,  sir,  you 
could  n't  hire  a  Yankee  to  sit  there.  No,  sir ! 
He  'd  creep  'round  an'  say,  '  Help  me  out  o'  this 
'ere  poverty  ef  yer  can,  but  for  the  land's  sake, 
don't  tell  nobody.'" 

Jerks  wondered  at  the  people  being  so  accom 
modating.  Jonathan,  on  asking  for  a  street, 
name  of  hotel,  or  where  to  find  a  carriage,  was 
delighted  to  find  them  so  obliging. 

"Wai,  I  swow !  "  said  Jerks,  fervently,  "ef 
they  don't  even  hold  out  their  hands  to  welcome  a 
fellow  to  England.  Course  I  ask  'em  'how  de 
du?'  an'  'how's  their  folks  at  home?'  'cause  a 
feller's  got  to  be  civil,  you  know.  Wai,  I  never 
see  such  obligin'  set  of  people." 

Walking  through  the  poverty-stricken  quarter 
of  Liverpool,  we  saw  the  terrible  effects  of  intern- 
3 


o4  OUTWARD   BOUND. 

porance.  Nearly  every  face  we  met  was  red  and 
blotched,  showing  signs  of  constant  dissipation. 
Here  there  were  hundreds  of  people  who  never 
have  a  fire,  who  live  mostly  on  beer  and  stronger 
drink. 

"  Here  's  the  strongest  kind  of  a  temperance  lec- 
tur',"  said  Jonathan.  "  I  SAvan,  ef  it  ain't  a  burnin' 
shame  ter  the  name  of  civilization." 

Here,  too,  we  saw  woman's  utter  degradation. 
Women,  coarse  and  bold,  Avould  go  up  to  the  bar 
and  cry,  "  Say,  Sal,  what  '11  ye  take  ? "  with  all 
the  nonchalance  of  an  old  toper. 

"  Oh,  give  me  some  Old  Tom  gin  or  whiskey 
straight,"  would  be  the  reply,  and  thereupon  they 
would  drink  to  more  than  beastly  excess. 

"  By  hokey  !  "  cried  Jerks,  "  jes'  look  a-there." 

Two  bar-maids  were  disputing  in  the  street, 
calling  each  other  the  vilest  names.  Then  squar 
ing  off,  man  fashion,  they  struck  and  clinched  till 
their  faces  were  battered  and  streaming  with  blood. 

"  Great  Gosh  !  that 's  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
women  at  fisticuffs,"  exclaimed  Jonathan.  "Ef 
that  ain't  the  worst  sight  I  ever  looked  on  !  By 
gracious,  jes'  look  at  'em.  A  regular  prize-fight, 
now,  ain't  it?  " 

The  women  kept  at  it  for  some  time,  drawing  a 
large  crowd  around  them,  among  the  spectators 
being  two  or  three  police  officers. 


GILDERSLEEVES    OF   BEACON    HILL.  35 

"  Stop  'em  !  stop  'em  !  "  cried  Jonathan,  swing 
ing  his  hands  arid  jerking  his  body  in  his  excite 
ment.  Finally  a  man  seized  one  of  the  women. 
This  was  the  other's  chance.  She  sprang,  struck, 
yelled,  and,  woman-like,  went  in  for  the  last  word 
and  the  last  blow. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  Jerks,  as  we  went  on,  pointing 
to  a  rum-shop  across  the  way,  "  du  you  see  that 
liquor  den  over  there  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"Wai,  sir,  captain  says  that  'ere  place  is  owned 
by  the  Mayor  of  Liverpool.  By  cracky !  How 
a  man  that 's  got  any  soul  can  sell  liquor,  and  a 
magistrate  at  that,  I  can't  see,"  cried  Jonathan. 
"Why,  such  a  man  makes  half  the  misery,  woe, 
and  crime  of  the  world.  Jes'  to  think  of  the 
squalid  wretchedness,  bruised  faces,  ruined  chil 
dren  in  this  great  city  brought  on  by  drink.  I 
swan  ;  I  would  n't  have  'em  point  to  me  and  say, 
'  At  your  door  lies  this  wrong ' ;  no,  not  for  all  the 
world  !  " 

From  Liverpool  we  went  to  London.  Among 
other  things,  Jerks  was  not  well  pleased  with  the 
English  Church  establishment. 

"We  Americans  don't  believe  in  the  union  of 
church  and  state,"  said  Jonathan.  "  We  tried  it 
once,  you  know,  tu  hum,  in  New  England.  Tho 
State  took  the  sinners  into  the  church  to  vote. 


36  OUTWARD   BOUND. 

Soon  the  sinners  outnumbered  the  saints ;  then 
turned  the  saints  out  of  doors,  took  the  churches, 
and  have  kept  them  ever  since." 

One  Sunday  we  visited  eleven  churches  in 
London. 

"  Great  Geewhiliky  !  "  said  Jerks,  as  ho  caught 
sight  of  the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul's.  "Wai,  I 
swow  !  ef  that  ain't  some  punkins,  now  !  " 

We  entered  the  vast  chancel,  and  took  seats 
with  the  scanty  few  within. 

"  Guess  they  hain't  got  a  very  pop'lar  preacher; 
by  the  looks  of  things,"  said  Jonathan;  "seems 
like  a  meetin'-house  with  the  meetin'  left  out." 

Jonathan  summed  up  the  result  of  our  various 
visits  as  follows.  Taking  out  his  memorandum- 
book,  he  said,  with  a  whole  battery  of  jerks  and 
grimaces,  — 

"  Took  a  list  of  all  those  places,  jest  for  curi 
osity,  so 's  to  show  the  folks  tu  hum,  you  see. 
Now  look  a-here,  won't  this  'ere  sound  cur'ous  to 
our  church-goin'  people,"  and  Jerks  proceeded  to 
read  from  his  notes :  "St.  Paul's,  largest  church 
in  England,  communion  service,  twenty-nine  per 
sons,  and  six  priests,  to  conduct  the  services.  -At 
twelve  o'clock,  sixty-four  persons  and  seventy- 
four  paid  ministrants  at  the  altar ;  twelve  of  these 
were  priests  and  sixty-two  singers.  By  Jiminy ! 
more  officers  than  soldiers.  Ef  that  don't  beat 


GILDERSLEEVES   OF   BEACON   HILL.  37 

all!  At  St.  Margaret's,  only  five  persons  in  the 
congregation.  All  /could  see,  't any  rate  !  Per 
haps  rest  were  asleep.  Paid  that  'ere  woman 
pew-opener  sixpence  to  git  a  seat.  Went  against 
the  grain,  that  did.  St.  Martin's  had  only  six 
worshippers ;  St.  Nicholas,  seven ;  St.  Vedest, 
nine ;  St.  Magdalene,  nineteen ;  St.  James', 
twenty-two  persons  in  choir,  and  twenty  in  pews  ; 
St.  Anthony's,  two  hundred  persons.  An'  that 
was  the  largest  congregation  we  saw,  except  at 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  the  eleven-o'clock  preach 
ing  service  at  St.  Paul's. 

"  Now  that 's  a  mighty  poor  showin'  for  piety, 
we'd  call  it  in  America,"  continued  Jonathan. 
"  Ef  that 's  a  fair  sample  of  the  eight  hundred  and 
seventy-two  London  churches  of  what  they  call 
the  established  faith,  I  doirt  see  what  in  thunder 
they  want  so  many  for !  No  wonder  the  congre 
gation  's  so  small !  By  Jimmy !  All  these  'er& 
churches  supported  by  the  state,  too !  Why, 
every  man,  woman,  and  child,  at  that  rate,  must 
cost  upwards  of  a  thousand  dollars,  jest  for  a  few 
hours  of  public  worship  !  I  saw  in  a  newspaper 
that  the  Bishop  of  London  alone  got  a  salary  equal 
lo  the  President  of  the  United  States.  Jest  think 
of  that,  now  !  Then  that  same  bishop  has  charire 
of  all  these  'ere  churches,  with  the  hull  caboodle 
of  officers.  See  here  !  I  tuk  it  all  down  in  this 


38  OUTWARD   BOUND. 

'ere  book  of  mine.  There's  deans,  archdeacons, 
prebendaries,  canons,  minor-canons,  priest-vicars, 
rectors,  by  the  hundred,  and  all  drawing  big  sal 
aries.  What  an  army  of  do-nothin's  fed  at  the 
altar !  I  tell  you  what,"  Jerks  continued,  work- 
ins:  himself  up  into  his  usual  energetic  state,  while 
head,  eyes,  and  hand  kept  motion  with  his  feel 
ings,  —  "I  tell  you  what,  they  'd  ouglitcr  clean  out 
these  saps  that 's  eatin'  right  into  the  life  of  the 
nation.  I'd  jest  like  to  turn  the  crank  right  on  to 
'em,  an'  clean  'em  out,  sir,  clean  'em  out !  " 

"Speaking  of  these  churches,"  I  said,  "you 
must  admit  they  are  fine  edifices,  and  show  the 
taste  of  the  people,  while  at  the  same  time  they 
beautify  and  adorn  London." 

"I'd  rather  see  the  money  they  cost  invested 
in  raisin'  up  the  poor  and  do\vn-trodden  people  of 
this  'ere  metropolis,"  said  Jerks,  "  pullin'  'em 
oat  of  the  mire  of  beggary  and  degradation. 
Jest  look  at  George  Peabody,  the  American 
banker,  giving  two  millions  to  London's  poor. 
Now,  ef  some  of  London's  big  nabobs  would 
follow  that  man's  lead,  you  would  n't  see  such 
a  thing  as  I  saw  in  the  '  Times '  on'y  yesterday." 

"  What  was  that,  Jonathan?  " 

Jonathan  again  had  recourse  to  his  memoran 
dum-book. 

"  Here  it  is  ;  ri<rht  out  of  the  'Thunderer  '  itself: 


GILDERSLEEVES   OF   BEACON   HILL.  39 

cln  England  there  .ire  350,000  children  under  the 
age  of  sixteen  dependent  on  parochial  mainte 
nance.  More  than  100,000  criminals  are  annually 
let  loose  from  prison  to  prey  again  on  society. 
In  this  vast  and  wealthy  city  of  London,  there 
are  over  100,000  boys  and  girls  destitute  of  guar 
dianship,  destitute  of  food,  clothing,  and  em 
ployment  ! '  After  that,  talk  of  the  magnificent 
churches  and  public  buildings !  Let  England 
and  the  rest  of  the  Old  World  build  monuments. 
/  glory  in  America,  because  she  builds  men! 
Look  at  those  same  monuments,  —  look  at  St. 
Paul's,  where  AVC  went  to-day,  look  at  West 
minster  Abbey,  and  the  rest  of  'em.  Why,  they 
were  most  all  of  'em  built  from  the  hard  earnings 
of  the  poor.  Here,  I've  got  it  all  down  in  this 
'ere  book.  St.  Paul's  was  built  by  a  tax  on  coal. 
The  burden  always  falls  on  the  middle  an'  lower 
classes.  They  have  been  taxed  an'  crushed,  to 
build  up  England's  nobility. 

"  I  tell  you,  America's  nobility  is  her  men  ;  her 
wise,  noble,  God-fearin'  men.  Without  them, 
shafts,  bronzes,  grand  buildings,  and  marble  sta- 
tooes,  are  all  a  sham  and  a  mockery.  Them's  my 
sentiments  publicly  expressed,  as  old  Deacon 
Slocum  used  tor  say  way  up  in  New  Hampshire. 
I'm  proud  that  I  'm  an  American,  an'  I  jest  glory 
in  America.  There  you  won't  find  no  crushin' 


40  OUTWARD    BOUND. 

grindin'  airristocriay  !  No  exorbitant  rents  !  No 
titled  nobility ;  no  privileged  class  to  grasp  the 
chief  honors  ;  no  sons  of  birth  to  crowd  out  and 
crush  down  the  sons  of  toil ;  no  landed  monopo 
lies  to  rob  tenants  of  their  fields  an'  turn  'em  into 
huntin'  grounds.  There  every  man  has  a  chance, 
an  open  field,  an'  a  fair  fight ;  he  has  land  for  his 
feet,  a  roof  for  his  head,  and  a  prospect  for  his 
children.  I  tell  you  what,  sir,  for  one,  I  've  seen 
enough  of  London.  Let 's  pull  up  stakes  an'  go 
over  to  France  to-morrow." 

As  this  proposition  coincided  with  my  plans,  I 
acceded  to  Jonathan's  desire.  The  ensuing  day 
we  embarked  from  Dover  for  Calais.  On  the  boat 
we  found  our  old  fellow-travellers,  the  Gilder- 
sleeves,  and,  thus  once  more  united,  we  proceeded 
to  Paris. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

PARIS    OR     BOSTON,    WHICH?  —  JERKS,     SLIPPERS, 
SUNDAY  HORSE-RACE. 

"  HA,  ha,  ha  !     Then  you  don't  admire  Paris?" 

"Xo,  I  don't.     I  prefer  Boston,"  said  I. 

"What!  Ha,  ha!  Prefer  Boston  to  Paris? 
That  is  strange,"  said  Mr.  Gildersleeve,  at  our 
Paris  hotel.  "  What  are  your  objections  to 
Paris?" 

"I  object  to  its  loose  manners,  its  Sunday  dese 
cration,  immorality,  frivolity,  and  its  disgusting 
street  indecencies.  Yet  you  call  the  Parisians 
the  '  Politest  people  in  the  world.'  Sir,  I  have 
seen  enough  of  Paris.  I  will  not  spend  another 
day  nor  another  dollar  in  such  a  vicious  city." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Morgan,  you  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about.  Boston  is  more  immoral  than 
Paris." 

I  shook  my  head  incredulously,  and  said,  "Im 
possible  !  Boston  may  be  wicked,  but  its  wicked 
ness  is  not  so  deep,  so  black ;  it  don't,  it  can't 
compare  with  Paris." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Mr.  Gildersleeve, 
emphatically.  "  Go  into  the  depths,  and  see  as 


42  PARIS    Oil    BOSTON,    WHICH? 

much  of  Boston  as  I  have  seen,  and  you  will 
change  your  opinion.  You  ministers  know  but 
little  of  what  is  called  '  Life.'  If  we  were  in 
Boston  I  could  show  you  a  thing  or  two  that 
would  open  your  eyes,  — show  you  that  Boston  is 
the  most  corrupt  city  in  the  world." 

"  What !  Mr.  Gildersleeve,"!  exclaimed.  "You 
a  Boston  man,  born  in  Puritan  Boston,  and  your 
father  before  you.  Can  you  thus  denounce  your 
native  city?  In  what  respect  is  Boston  so  cor 
rupt?" 

"  In  everything,  —  politics  and  religion.  In 
Puritan  CANT  and  hypocrisy.  Puritanism  teaches 
concealment,  —  drinking,  gaming  on  the  sly, 
crimes  innumerable,  vices  unmentionable,  all  done 
in  the  dark.  Look  at  Boston's  police  records. 
Look  at  her  dark  array  of  crimes  and  criminals  ! 
Her  army  of  quacks  and  charlatans." 

"  Then  Paris  presents  better  morals  ?  " 

"Yes,  unquestionably.  Here,  men  need  not 
conceal,  the  unfortunate  need  not  be  under  a 
ban." 

I  replied,  "In  other  words,  then,  Boston  seeks 
to  repress  vice  and  crime  by  making  it  odious, 
while  Paris  encourages  vice  and  crime  by  open 
license.  Look  at  some  of  her  palaces,  monuments 
to  king's  mistresses,  built  to  commemorate  female 
depravity.  Look  at  her  art  galleries,  where  the 


JEUKS,    SLIPPERS,    SUNDAY   HORSE-RACE.       43 

sensual  school  predominates.  Look  at  her  the 
atres,  devoted  to  vile  plays  and  viler  operas. 
Look  at  her  modern  literature,  in  which  vice  is 
crowned  with  laurels.  Look  at  her  Sunday  amuse 
ments,  her  Sunday  horse-races.  And  yet,  in  the 
face  of  these  tacts,  you  call  Paris  a  moral  and 
perhaps  a  temperate  city." 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"  Why,  sir,  the  Parisians  drink  a  hundred  mill 
ion  gallons  of  wine  yearly,  fifty  gallons  to  each 
person,  that  is  a- gallon  a  week  to  each  man, 
woman,  and  child  !  To  say  nothing  of  the  strong 
drinks,  absinthe,  rum,  gin,  whiskey,  and  the  cus 
tom  of  mixing  brandy  with  their  coffee.  Then 
look  at  her  long  list  of  suicides ;  look  at  her 
Morgue.  As  the  proverb  goes,  'You  can't  drag 
the  Seine  without  fishing  up  a  man.'  * 

"And  you  can't  drag  Charles  River  without 
fishing  up  a  woman ! "  said  Mr.  Gildersleeve, 
emphatically.  rf  I  tell  you,  Bostonians  don't  know 
Boston's  darker  side  ;  you  don't  understand  Paris. 
Parisian  society  is  sensible,  philosophical.  It  is 
charitable  toward  human  frailties.  It  does  not 
attempt  to  gloss  over  such  social  crimes  and  weak 
nesses  as  are  inseparable  from  human  nature.  It 
&G"B  and  recognizes  their  necessity.  Thus  in 
Paris  men  and  women  are  frank  even  in  their 
vices.  They  are  not  compelled  to  hide  or  conceal 


44  PARIS   OR   BOSTON,    WHICH? 

every  peccadillo.  In  Boston  you  must  cover  up 
your  shortcomings,  play  a  part,  wear  a  mask, 
assume  a  virtue  if  you  have  it  not." 

"Why,  you  don't  claim,  that  open  transgression, 
barefaced  license,  are  helps  to  public  morals?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do.  Men's  passions  are  like  a 
mill-stream.  When  you  repress  them  they  revolt. 
The  higher  you  build  the  dam,  the  more  powerful 
the  resistance  and  more  furious  the  escaping 
current." 

"  Then  you  might  as  well  banish  all  laws,  even 
against  thieves  and  robbers.  According  to  your 
doctrine,  the  more  laws  against  stealing  the  more 
men  will  steal.  The  more  guards  against  bank 
robbery  the  more  banks  will  be  robbed." 

"  I  don't  say  that !  I  speak  not  of  thieves  or 
thieving,  but  only  of  the  Social  Evil." 

"Well,  then,  the  Social  Evil.  They  have 
licensed  this  in  some  American  cities.  But  license 
has  proved  a  failure  ;  it  only  increased  the  abomi 
nation." 

"Ah  !  They  didn't  give  it  a  fair  trial,  a  fail- 
show." 

"Yes,  they  did.     They  showed   that  the   evi 
nearly  doubled  while  sanctioned  by  law.     It  took 
on  a  bolder  face,   even  assumed  the  garb  of  re 
spectability.    You  say,  don't  dam  the  stream.    We 
say,  dry  it  up  altogether  ;  stop  the  fountains  1  " 


JERKS,    SLIPPERS,    SUNDAY   HORSE-RACE.        45 

"Then  why  don't  you  dry  up  the  stream  in  Bos 
ton  ?  " 

"Because  of  just  such  men  as  you  !  You  repre 
sent,  or  rather  misrepresent,  the  wealth  and  cul 
ture  of  Boston.  When  you,  and  such  as  you, 
strike  for  temperance,  then  intemperance  will  be 
banished.  When  the  upper  classes  frown  down 
the  sin  of  incontinence,  then  social  law  and 
morals  will  be  strengthened.  Let  them  set  the 
seal  of  their  disapprobation  on  fashionable  sins ; 
let  them  practise  self-sacrifice,  self-denial,  mortify 
the  lusts  of  the  flesh,  denounce  by  precept  and 
example  Boston's  vice,  and  vice  will  disappear." 

"  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  Then  you  expect  me  to  make 
a  martyr  of  myself  for  my  fellow-men,  eh?  I  tell 
you,  no  man  has  a  right  to  say  what  I  shall  eat 
or  what  I  shall  drink  !" 

"Xo,  so  long  as  your  habits  do  not  affect  your 
fellows,  so  long  as  your  position  does  not  place 
you  above  other  men.  But  when  you  become  a 
leader,  claim  to  be  an  exemplar,  then  public 
opinion,  next  to  the  Almighty,  has  a  right  to  pen 
etrate  your  very  thoughts,  the  secrets  of  your 
bedchamber,  hold  you  to  account  for  every  act ; 
what  you  eat,  what  you  drink,  what  you  wear, 
and  all  your  incomings  and  outgoings,  all  that 
tells  upon  the  morals  of  society." 

"  Ah,  ha  !  you  would  make  me  a  perfect  man,— 


46  PARIS    OR    BOSTON,  WHICH? 

an  anchorite,  a  plain  liver,  a  teetotaller,  a  church 
goer,  and,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  sacrificial  offering. 
Ha,  ha  !  I  should  be  too  good  for  earth  !  " 

"Yes,  sir.  I  would  have  you  temperate  for 
yourself,  your  family,  your  son,  and  for  an  ex 
ample  to  your  neighbors.  No  man  liveth  unto 
himself.  The  higher  his  social  position  the  greater 
his  accountability  to  God  and  men.  Those  Puri 
tans  you  sneer  at  were  your  fathers,  —  self- 
denying,  God-fearing.  They  planted  seeds  for 
the  freest,  grandest,  most  intelligent  nation  on 
earth.  Yet  you,  pampered  in  wealth,  despise 
these  men,  ridicule  their  faith,  and  contemn  the 
city  of  your  birth !  Still  you  call  yourself 
American,  Republican,  ex-official  of  Boston ! 
Heaven  preserve  us  !  Is  it  possible  that  Ameri 
cans  like  you  can  play  toady  to  foreign  rank, 
power,  and  fashion ;  spend  thousands  upon  thou 
sands  wrung  from  the  hearts'  blood  of  poor 
tenants  and  poorer  mill-hands,  spend  it  abroad  in 
aping  defunct  counts,  dissolute  nobles,  and  de 
throned  royalty  !  Then,  worse  still,  to  condemn, 
to  sneer  at  and  deride  the  city  that  gave  you 
birth  !  " 

"But,  sir,  you  don't  understand  me.  I  do  not 
sneer  at  Boston  I  only  condemn  her  hypocrisy." 

""Well,  be  that  as  it  may,  if  Boston  is  as  bad  as 
you  say,  I  declare  I  will  know  it  in  less  than  two 


JERKS,    SLIPPERS,    SUNDAY    HORSE-RACE.        47 

months.  I  hud  started  for  a  voyage  round  the 
world ;  started  for  a  year's  recreation.  But  I  now 
give  up  all  thoughts  of  pleasure.  Will  turn  my 
back  on  all  enjoyments.  I  will  heed  only  this 
call  of  duty.  I  will  go  back  to  Boston,  spend  all 
I  am  worth,  if  need  be,  in  ferreting  out  Boston's 
sins.  I  will  employ  men  to  penetrate  and  expose 
every  dark  nook  and  corner,  lane,  and  by-way.  I 
will  turn  Boston  Inside  Out  like  a  garment.  If 
your  portrayal  be  true,  then  I  am  needed  in 
Boston  to  help  redeem  her  from  shume.  If  not 
true,  then  the  world  shall  know  who  are  her 
detractors." 

With  this  I  parted  from  Mr.  Augustus  Gilder- 
sleeve.  I  had  gone  abroad  for  my  health ;  had 
visited  London  and  Liverpool.  Finally  I  decided 
to  go  to  France,  and  study  the  various  phases  of 
life  in  the  French  capital.  Like  most  travellers, 
I  was  astonished  at  the  magnitude  of  Paris.  I 
looked  with  wonder  on  its  stupendous  public 
Avorks,  its  magnificent  buildings ;  admired  its 
splendid  trophies  of  art,  which  meet  the  gaze  on 
every  hand.  I  paid  homage  to  the  wonderful 
spirit  and  genius  of  a  people  who,  stricken  and 
impoverished  by  a  wasting  war,  had  yet  sprung 
as  one  man  to  the  patriotic  duty  of  removing  the 
traces  of  the  conflict,  and  restoring  their  beautiful 
capital  to  its  former  glory. 


48  PARIS   OR    BOSTON,  WI11CH  ? 

On  the  ruins  of  a  despotism  that  had  crushed 
them  to  the  earth,  that  had  ground  their  very 
souls  as  well  as  their  bodies  under  its  iron  heel, 
this  same  people  had  erected  a  stable  and  consis 
tent  government.  As  a  citizen  of  one  great 
republic,  I  could  not  but  take  pride  in  viewing 
the  success  of  this  the  most  recent  experiment  in 
popular  government.  But  I  witnessed  the  lux 
urious  prodigality  seen  on  every  side,  with  dif 
ferent  feelings.  I  could  not  observe  the  heartless 
gayety  and  soulless  frivolity  which  distinguish 
the  social  atmosphere  of  Paris  without  severe 
condemnation.  My  very  soul  sickened  at  the 
open  sin  and  profligacy ;  at  the  affected  observ 
ance  of  religious  forms,  and  the  actual  irreverence 
for  everything  sacred ;  the  gross  and  shameless 
indecency  which  makes  the  streets  of  Paris  a 
horror  and  an  offence  to  a  modest  eye ;  the  false 
show  and  glitter  which  cover  no  end  of  social 
corruption,  and  the  sham  sentiment  which  gives 
more  pity  to  the  condemned  criminal  on  his  \vay 
to  the  galleys,  than  to  the  suffering  and  starving 
outcast  who  begs  for  bread  in  her  public  thorough 
fares. 

On  my  first  Sunday  in  Paris,  I  awoke  with  the 
sounds  of  b-u-z-z,  b-u-z-z,  b-u-z-z  in  my  ears. 
What  is  it?  Not  the  chimes  of  Sabbath  bells, 
but  sounds  of  business  and  pleasure.  The  clang, 


JERKS,    SLIPPKRR,    SUNDAY    HORSE-RACE.        49 

clang,  clang  of  the  hammer,  whirring  of  ma 
chinery,  whistling  of  engines.  Is  this  Sunday? 

How  about  the  churches?  I  visited  the  most 
noted  ones  in  Paris,  the  Madelaine,  Notre  Dame, 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  The  crowds  were  not  large. 
Many  of  them  were  strangers  gazing  upon  the 
walls,  more  intent  on  the  works  of  art  than  devo 
tion  ;  upon  gildings,  frescos,  grand  altars,  vases, 
groups  of  statuary.  In  Notre  Dame  are  the 
sacred  relics  ;  the  thorn  from  the  Saviour's  crown  ; 
the  coronation  relics  of  Napoleon;  the  iron  crown 
he  placed  upon  his  head  in  defiance  of  priest  or 
pope.  In  the  church  of  the  Invalides  may  be 
seen  the  red  marble  tomb  of  Napoleon,  the  thou 
sand  tattered  and  faded  battle-flags  hung  from  the 
roof;  bas-reliefs,  busts  and  statues  of  statesmen, 
saints,  and  generals.  These  attract  the  eye,  but 
distract  from  the  worship. 

I  visited  the  church  of  the  English  Ambassador, 
Lord  Lyons,  in  Paris.  Would  the  Prince  of 
Wales  be  there?  No;  his  cousin,  King  George 
of  Hanover,  had  just  died.  This  gave  the  Prince 
an  excuse  to  keep  away  from  church,  but  not 
from  the  horse-race. 

From  the  churches  I  went  to  the  Exposition. 
There  I  found  the  machinery  in  full  blast  in  every 
department  except  the  American  and  English. 
The  American  Corliss  engine  was  moving,  but  it 

4 


50  PARIS    OR   BOSTON,  WHICH? 

was  under  control  of  ;i  Paris  firm.  Mr.  Corliss 
said,  in  Philadelphia : 

"  If  the  Centennial  Exhibition  opens  on  Sunday 
my  engine  shall  be  taken  out."  In  Paris  he  had 
no  such  power ;  the  spindles  and  looms  were  in 
full  play ;  there  was  the  busy  hum  of  traffic  from 
various  nations,  —  Belgium,  Holland,  Germany, 
Austria,  Egypt,  Barbary ;  yet  the  American  and 
English  quarters  were  silent.  Carriages,  tables, 
goods,  utensils,  were  all  covered ;  sentinel  say 
ing,  "  No  exhibition  on  Sunday."  I  was  proud 
of  England  and  of  America,  proud  to  see  the  Sab 
bath  respected.  But  while  England  as  a  nation 
honored  the  Sabbath,  her  crown  Prince  was  at  the 
horse-race  in  Paris,  and  her  royal  family  travelling 
in  Scotland. 

I  honor  the  Sabbath  Alliance  of  Scotland,  which 
protested  against  the  Queen's  travelling.  I  honor 
the  boatman  that  refused  to  ferry  the  royal  party 
across  Loch  Maree.  I  honor  the  innkeeper  of 
Achnasheen,  who  would  not  allow  his  horses  to 
cany  the  Queen's  letters  on  the  Lord's  day.  But 
I  detest  the  royalty  that  breaks  the  laws ;  I  abhor 
any  privileged  class  that  shall  use  their  privileges 
to  corrupt  society,  be  they  king,  prince,  bishop, 
priest,  or  peer. 

Coming  out  of  the  Exposition  I  saw  throng-' 
moving  toward  Longchamps,  the  race-course  of 


JERKS,    SLIPPERS,    SUNDAY    HORSE-RACK.        51 

Paris.  The  Bois  de  Boulogne  was  filled.  The 
newspapers  said  there  were  half  a  million  of 
people.  It  was  the  great  race  of  the  year.  Its 
greatest  patron  was  President  MacMahon,  son  of 
the  church,  with  his  bigoted  wife,  a  Catholic. 
Their  appearance,  however,  elicited  but  little  en 
thusiasm.  But  when  the  Shah  of  Persia  came  in 
his  royal  robes  the  crowds  applauded.  Perhaps 
France  was  to  teach  him  refined  civilization  and 
Christianity  by  introducing  him  to  a  Sunday 
horse-race ! 

Within  the  gates  were  stands  for  the  pool- 
sellers.  Here  I  saw  excited  men  and  women 
staking  money  on  the  races ;  among  whom  was 
ex-Queen  Isabella,  of  Spain,  who  was  said  to  be 
one  of  the  heaviest  betters  present.  She  was 
expelled  from  Spain  for  licentious  practices.  Paris 
was  her  natural  retreat.  But  to-day  she  is  again 
dominant  at  the  Spanish  court  and  in  the  church. 

The  horse  that  won  the  grand  prize  was  raised 
in  England.  Both  princes  and  horses  are  reared 
in  England.  But  they  have  to  go  to  Paris  for 
their  Sunday  racing !  This  was  my  first  horse 
race.  I  did  not  enter  the  grounds,  but  saw 
enough  through  the  gates  to  sicken  me  of  Euro 
pean  life,  its  fashions  and  its  follies. 

Returning  from  the  races  the  way  was  blocked 
at  the  Arch  of  Triumph  where  the  great  streets 


52  PARIS   OR    BOSTON,    WHICH? 

radiate  ;  and  looking  down  the  Champs  Elysees, 
the  finest  avenue  in  Paris,  I  saw  thousands  of 
carriages  driving  six  deep,  three  on  each  side, 
extending  mile  upon  mile. 

It  took  half  an  hour  for  our  omnibus  to  cross 
the  street.  Many  carriages  were  occupied  by 
Americans, — the  lions  of  the  day, — merchant- 
princes,  generals,  American  Bonanza  men,  petro 
leum  men,  shoddy  men,  quack-medicine  advertisers, 
imitating  eflete  nobility  in  their  lavish  display. 

After  the  race,  instead  of  religious  services  as 
in  America  on  Sunday  evening,  the  Sabbath 
wound  up  with  theatres,  operas,  ballet-dancing, 
open-air  concerts,  all  patronized  by  government, 
and  extending  till  midnight.  Such  is  life  in  Paris. 
Americans  spend  millions  abroad  year  after  year 
to  encourage  such  life  as  this  ! 

On  the  Champs  Elysees  I  met  Jonathan  Jerks. 

"Wai,  now,  sir,  I  lost  you  in  the  crowd,  but 
well  met  again.  By  jimmy !  You  'd  jest  be 
astonished  at  the  number  of  Americans  I  've  run 
against  out  here  in  what  they  call  the  Shamps 
Ellises.  Queer  names  they  du  have  for  places 
here  in  Paris  !  Boston  's  turnin'  out  pooty  numer 
ous  at  this  'ere  Exposition.  Every  t'  other  man 
you  meet  hails  from  the  f  Hub  of  the  Univarse.' 
I  declare,  now,  ef  here  hain't  another  on  'em ! 
Slippers,  by  gracious  !  " 


JERKS,    SLIPPERS,    SUNDAY    IIORSK-RACE.        53 

"Slippers"  was  sauntering  towards  us,  cane 
under  his  arm,  eye-glass  to  his  eye,  and  with  an 
air  of  the  most  complete  contentment  and  satisfac 
tion. 

"Hullo!"  said  Jerks.  "How  du  you  du? 
How  du  you  like  Paris  ?  " 

"  Aw  !  charmant !  charmant !  There  ith  noth 
ing  in  the  whole  world  like  la  belle  Paree! 
Every  thing  ith  tho  thunerb  !  tho  magnifique  ! " 

*Magnifeek/"  said  Jerks,  imitating  him. 
"Wai,  yes,  I  should  say  so  !  You  may  like  it! 
But  give  me  America  !  Give  me  Yankeedoodle- 
dom  afore  all  the  world,  I  say  ! " 

"  But  America  hath  no  architecture,  no  thtatuary, 
no  thculpture." 

"No,  we  don't  think  much  of  stone  men  nor 
stone  women.  We  in  America  believe  in  live 
animals,  —  live  stock.  The  dead  stock  we  send 
abroad,"  looking  significantly  at  Slippers. 

"  Slippers  "  stroked  his  silky  mustache  with  an 
air  of  great  disdain. 

"  Aw,  don't  speak  of  America  !  How  can  you 
mention  that  vulgaw  country  in  the  thame  bweath 
with  Francaise  and  Paree  !  " 

"  Wai,  Paris  is  some  punkins,  I  allow,"  said 
Jerks.  "  She  is  a  handsome  city,  an'  no  mis 
take." 

"  Yeth,   only   look    at  her   chawming  thenes, 

\ 


54  PAULS    OU    BOSTON,    WHICH? 

thplendid  boulcvardth,  aw,  and  her  gorgoouth 
palathethl" 

"Palaces!  Yes,  an'  they've  got  a  pecooliar 
history,  most  of  em,  so  I'm  told.  Built  for  kings' 
favorites, — ahem,  —  of  the  feminine  persuasion, 
—  a  good  many  of  'em,  eh  ?  " 

"  Ah !  people  in  Paree  doot  thothiety  never 
trouble  themthelfth  about  thuch  inquirieth." 

"Oh,  they  don't,  eh?  Wai,  now,  I  didn't 
know  that,"  said  Jerks,  whimsically. 

"Excuth  me,  but  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  famil 
iar,  aw,  with  doot  thothiety.  Doot  thothiety  hath 
to  wink  at  a  good  many  little  irregularitieth." 

"Wink  at  'em,  eh?  Just  so.  Swallow  'em 
whole,  I  should  say,  without  comment,  as  the  alli 
gator  did  to  the  little  picaninny.  How  about  the 
Paris  demi-monde?  You  don't  wink  at  them,  I 
take  it.  And  the  paintings  of  them  'ere  women  in 
the  Louvre.  Those  are  enough  to  make  any 
decent  man  wink  from  very  shame  !  '' 

"  Ha,  ha  !  You  don't  understand.  That  is  high 
art." 

"  Du  tell!  Wai,  for  a  Boston  man,  you've 
got  the  queerest  notions  on  morals  that  I  ever 
heard  tell  on." 

"Moralth  !  Ha  !  ha  !  I  thee,  thir,  that  you  'vo 
got  the  ordinary  rural  idea  of  Bothton, —  aw. 
You  think  that  Bothton  ith  thtill  the  thity  of  the 


JERKS,    SLIPPERS,    SUNDAY    HORSE-RACE.        55 

Puritanth.  A  mithtaken  idea,  I  athure  you. 
Bothtou  ith  one  of  the  wickedetht  platheth  in  the 
world.  Ha !  ha !  I  could  convinth  you  that 
Puree  ith  nothing  to  Bothton.  Aw  !  I  am  dith- 
guthted  with  the  verwy  name  !  " 

There  it  was  again  !  The  same  idea  that  Mr. 
Gildersleeve  had  advanced.  As  the  exquisite  left 
us,  I  turned  to  Jerks,  and  said  reflectively,  — 

"  How  singular  that  a  man  of  sense  and  a  sim- 

O 

pleton  can  agree  in  their  opinions  !  " 

"  Heh  ?     What  d'  ye  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Gildersleeve  has  been  trying  to 
convince  me  that  Boston  is  a  perfect  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah  of  wickedness,  and  now  this  jackanapes 
offers  to  do  likewise." 

"Haw!  haw!  haw!"  laughed  Jerks.  "Don't 
believe  a  word  of  it,  sir." 

"  But  their  words  have  given  my  thoughts  a 
new  turn.  Jonathan,  I  've  determined  to  cut 
short  my  pleasure-trip.  I  am  going  home." 

"  Jerusalem  !  Wai,  the  very  name  of  home 
sets  my  heart  a  thumpin'.  Air  you  really  in  ear 
nest,  now?  " 

"Never  more  so  in  my  life.  I  am  going  home 
to  see  if  Boston  is  so  vile,  so  wicked.  I  will  do 
my  part  to  redeem  Boston's  good  name." 

"  By  hokey !  I  'd  jest  like  ter  go  with  you* 
sir.  I  've  been  ter  Boston  a  few  times  myself, 


56  PARIS    OR    BOSTON,    WHICH? 

an'  I  never  saw  nothin'  so  very  bad  about  her.  I 
remember,  though,  the  fust  time  I  came  down, 
some  sharpers  tried  ter  pick  me  up  for  a  flat  an' 
greenhorn.  But  I  had  my  eye-teeth  cut  early, 
you  see,  so  they  missed  their  little  game.  Come, 
now,  sir,  I  'd  like  mightily  ter  hire  out  ter  you 
an'  take  a  hand  in  this  'ere  job." 

"You  are  just  the  man  I  want,  Jonathan,"  I 
replied. 

"  All  right,  sir,  I  Ve  got  ter  make  a  little  trip 
up  ter  New  Hampsheer  for  a  week  or  so,  ter  'tend 
ter  a  little  matter  of  business,"  —  Jonathan  was 
thinking  of  Gaddy  Glibbins  and  the  present  he 
had  for  her,  —  "  then  I  'm  ready  ter  go  in  with 
you,  squire,  heart  and  hand,  in  the  work  of  turnin' 
the  crank  on  to  Boston." 

And  Jonathan  worked  his  elbow  as  if  he  was 
turning  an  enormous  crank  which  would  grind 
Boston's  sins  and  evil-doers  into  particles. 

The  next  day  we  embarked  for  America. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LECTURE    IN    BOSTON    MUSIC    HALL.  —  DARK    REVELA 
TIONS  OF  CRIME. 

WHEN  my  troubles  were  thickest,  being  sued  for 
$10,000,  the  papers  refusing  to  report  my  lectures, 
and  Music  Hall  having  been  closed  against  me,  I 
gave  a  lecture,  most  of  which  is  the  following  :  - 

Once  more  on  golden  hinges  turning,  Boston 
Music  Hall  is  open  !  Open  to  Henry  Morgan  ! 
(Applause.)  Once  more  my  lips  are  free  to  de 
nounce  Boston's  sins.  Once  more  my  voice  is 
heard.  Ay,  and  heard  while  my  prosecutors  are 
in  jail !  (Tremendous  applause.) 

I  came  home  from  Europe  abhorring  Parisian 
life  and  Paris  sins.  But  alas !  I  have  found  a 
second  edition  of  Paris  in  Boston.  I  have  opened 
in  Boston  the  modern  box  of  Pandora.  A  thou 
sand  evils  have  sprung  out !  I  dug  too  deep  ! 
Opening  sewers  is  not  healthful.  (Laughter.) 
You  have  to  drop  the  lid  down  quickly,  or  some 
body  will  get  sick.  I  got  sick  myself;  the  evils 


58  LECTURE   IN   BOSTON   MUSIC    HALL. 

struck  in  ;  not  only  sick,  bnt  terribly  mortified  at 
the  state  of  things.  I  have  had  a  glimpse  of  Tophet 
on  earth. 

I  hold  in  my  hand  documents  that  would  set  all 
Boston  in  consternation  ;  start  a  skeleton  in  a  hun 
dred  households.  But  with  my  consent  they  shall 
never  see  the  light.  I  hold  them  merely  as  a 
warning  for  the  ungodly  to  sin  no  more. 

I  have  probed  Boston's  iniquities  to  its  depths  : 
its  dance  halls,  its  dances  of  death,  clairvoyants, 
mesmerists,  pre-natal  murderers,  crimes  of  self- 
destruction,  and  "  Busy  Bees,"  where  "Led  Astray" 
is  acted  to  the  life  at  $3  admission. 

The  time  was  when  crimes  were  not  winked 
at  in  Boston  as  they  are  to-day.  When  Major 
Jones  and  Captain  Boynton  were  at  the  head 
of  the  State  police,  they  meant  business.  Then 
gambling  was  checked.  Then  the  crow-bar  and 
axe  were  used  to  force  the  doors  ;  the  tiger's 
den  was  invaded  ;  their  trophies  were  many. 
From  four  to  six  bushels  of  ivory  chips  were 
seized,  tables,  banks,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  con 
fiscated  and  destroyed.  Unlawful  gaming  was  so 
much  interfered  with  that  $40,000  were  offered  to 
Capt.  Boynton  if  he  would  desist  from  prosecuting 
the  gamblers.  v 


the  head  of  the  reform  police  has  chosen 
the  biggest  gambler  in  Boston  to  be  his  associate, 


DARK   REVELATIONS    OF   CRIME.  59 

to  run  his  horses  and  manage  his  trotting-park. 
HOAV  such  a  reformer  would  look  in  arresting  giant 
gamblers  !  A  little  puppy  dog  attacking  a  lion  ! 
Before  the  Legislature  I  asked  that  man  to  resign  ! 
He  did  resign ;  but  how  are  we  bettered  ?  We 
have  a  corrupt  police  commission  responsible  to 
nobody.  Neither  to  City  Hall  nor  the  State 
House. 

Yet  there  are  some  fruits  of  my  efforts.  Victims 
have  been  rescued,  and  gamblers  compelled  to  dis 
gorge.  I  give  instances. 

A  man  high  in  spiritual  circles  said  he  had  be 
come  intoxicated  and  lost  all  he  had  at  a  noted 
gambling-house,  one  of  those  which  I  had  ex 
posed. 

He  asked,  "  What  can  I  do  ? 

I  said,  "  Demand  your  money  back  or  sue  them." 
1  gave  him  the  names  of  all  the  gamblers  of  that 
house  ;  he  showed  them  his  facts,  threatened  suit, 
and  got  part  of  his  money  back  without  cost  and 
without  being  exposed. 

One  man  told  me  he  had  been  enticed  by  wines 
and  free  dinners  to  risk  small  sums  until  at  last  he 
lost  all  his  father  gave  him  to  set  him  up  in  busi 
ness,  some  $10,000.  I  encouraged  him  to  issue 
suit,  and  considerable  of  the  property  was  recov 
ered,  without  the  cost  of  trial. 

A  father  said  to  me,  "My  son  has  gambled  away 


60  LECTURE   IN   BOSTON   MUSIC   HALL. 

his  all,  unbeknown  to  me  ;  I  had  not  the  first  suspi 
cion  that  he  was  ever  in  a  gambling  den  in  his  life. 
When  I  found  that  he  had  not  only  spent  his 
money,  but  had  also  pawned  his  wife's  jewelry, 
worth  $600,  and  gambled  that  away,  then,  sir,  I 
became  so  enraged  that  I  seized  him  by  the  throat, 
hurled  him  to  the  ground,  and  threatened  to  choke 
him  to  death  if  he  did  not  reveal  every  gambling 
place,  and  every  gambler,  where  he  had  staked 
and  lost.  It  was  a  severe  remedy.  In  fact  I  was 
crazed,  actually  beside  myself,  and  often  have 
repented  of  it  since,  but  it  cured  the  boy.  He 
led  me  to  every  man,  and  every  place,  and  made 
the  most  of  them  refund.  And,  oh,  sir !  if  I  do 
say  it,  a  better  son  than  he  is  to-day  does  not  live  !  " 
tears  streaming  down  his  face  as  he  spoke,  and 
his  voice  tremulous  with  emotion.  That  man  got 
the  names  of  gamblers  from  my  list  and  sued 
the  most  obstinate  of  them,  and  recovered  the 
money. 

Some  were  not  so  lucky.  A  young  woman  of 
culture  and  refinement,  marrying  the  son  of  a 
clergyman,  and  seeing  her  husband  ruined,  sat  for 
hours  on  the  stairs  of  a  den  on  Elm  Street,  to 
prevent  him  from  entering.  She  was  driven  to 
desperation,  and  resorted  to  this  public  demonstra 
tion  as  her  only  hope.  She  at  last  prevailed,  won 
him  back  to  his  home  and  to  his  child,  but  his 


DARK    REVELATIONS   OF   CRIME  61 

fortune  was  not  recovered.  She  came  to  me, 
wrote  down  a  list  of  all  the  leading  gamblers,  in 
cluding  her  husband,  and  asked  me  to  invoke  the 
law.  The  husband  became  alarmed,  begged  me 
not  to  have  his  name  appear,  and  promised  to  re 
form. 

A  soldier's  wife  from  Maine  found  herself  in 
the  street  without  a  crust,  a  few  days  after  coming 
to  Boston.  The  husband  had  drawn  his  pension 
money,  and  spent  every  cent  of  it  in  gambling. 
I  gave  her  a  few  dollars,  then  appealed  to  the 
police,  but  could  get  no  redress. 

A  young  man  belonging  to  the  most  popular 
church  of  the  city  told  me  his  woes.  He  had  bor 
rowed  goods,  and  pawned  them  to  gamble  with ; 
when  the  time  came  to  redeem  them  he  had  no 
money.  I  gave  him  money  for  temporary  relief, 
but  his  doom  was  not  far  distant,  and  he  found  no 
mercy. 

A  clerk  in  the  Tremont  House  had  gambled  in 
Montgomery  Place  and  lost  $1,200.  Part  of  this 
he  had  taken  from  the  till.  He  must  restore  it  or 
be  ruined.  He  asked  the  rich  gambler  to  lend 
him  $100,  just  $100  only  ;  he  would  pay  interest 
and  principal,  and  never  make  complaint.  But 
the  Faro  King,  with  sleek  face  and  sardonic  grin, 
coolly  bowed  him  out  of  tho  house.  Tho  Tremont 
House  and  Revere  House  were  under  the  s;inift 
partnership. 


62  LECTURE    IN    BOSTON   MUSIC   HALL. 

The  clerk  was  ordered  to  carry  $300  to  the  Re 
vere  House.  On  his  way  he  passed  David  Blan- 
chard's  faro  bank.  He  thought,  "  Now  if  I  could 
only  win  $100,  I  could  cover  my  tracks  till  my  sal 
ary  comes  due,  and  save  my  reputation  and  my 
place."  He  looked  at  the  money,  hesitated,  par 
leyed  with  his  conscience,  and  at  last  went  in.  He 
lost  $10,  $20,  and  at  last  $100.  He  could  not  now 
appear  at  the  Revere  House  with  part  of  the 
$300  ;  he  must  win  the  $100  back  or  lose  all ;  so 
he  ventured,  and  lost  the  whole  $300. 

He  went  back  to  the  Tremont  House,  fell  upon 
his  knees,  said,  "  Bear  with  me  ;  forgive  me  this 
time.  I  will  pay  you  every  cent.  I  will  live  on 
a  single  meal ;  work  my  fingers  to  the  bone  ;  be 
faithful  and  true  to  you  ;  receive  not  a  cent  till  all 
is  paid."  But  while  pleading,  he  saw  the  officer 
coming,  and  knew  his  doom  was  at  hand. 

He  asked  permission  to  step  into  the  next  room, 
just  for  a  moment  only,  to  change  his  coat ;  there 
seizing  a  pistol,  he  shot  himself  dead. 

Another  case :  A  young  man  said  to  his  wife, 
"  Mary,  I  am  not  fit  to  live ;  I  wish  to  die." 

"Don't  feel  so  sad,"  said  the  devoted  wife. 
"You  would  not  leave  me  and  the  children;  you 
must  live  but  for  their  sake." 

"  Xo,  no  !  I  am  not  fit  to  live.  I  am  but  a  dis 
grace  to  you  and  to  them." 


DARK   REVELATIONS    OF   CRIME.  63 

"Don't  talk  so,"  she  said,  in.  soothing  tones. 
"  What  have  you  done  ?" 

w  I  hardly  dare  tell  you  what  I  have  done.  I 
have  spent  the  $18,000  my  mother  left  me  a  few 
months  ago,  in  gambling." 

ft  But  you  have  your  hands  and  your  health  ;  you 
can  earn  more  ;  don't  take  on  so."  And  she  strove 
to  cheer  him  up  by  kind  caresses,  with  more  than 
a  wife's  affection  and  endearment. 

At  last  he  broke  out,  "  Oh,  Mary  !  it  will  break 
your  heart  if  I  tell  you  all !  This  house  is  gone  ; 
the  furniture  is  gone  !  All  you  have  on  earth,  all 
your  mother's  gifts,  are  mortgaged  to  the  pawn 
broker  !  I  brought  him  in  when  you  was  away, 
and  sold  them  all !  " 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  that  wife  yielded  to 
paroxysms  of  grief.  "  AVhat ! "  she  exclaimed. 
w  The  dearest  mementos  of  my  mother !  Every 
couch,  chair,  and  table  !  Even  the  children's 
toys  !  All  gone  to  the  faro  bank  ! "  And  she 
cried  and  sobbed  aloud  ! 

The  husband,  seeing  her  anguish,  became  so 
mortified  and  chagrined  that  he  seized  a  pistol  and 
shot  himself  dead  on  the  spot. 

All  these  instances  occurred  within  a  few  months 
of  each  other,  and  scores  of  others  equally  heart 
rending  might  be  related.  Yet  I  am  condemned 
for  revealing  them  to  the  public,  and  for  sounding 


64  LECTURE    IN   BOSTON   MUSIC   HALL. 

alarm !  Oh,  Boston  !  Boston  !  Has  it  come  to 
this  ?  Oh,  Shame  !  Shame  !  where  is  thy  blush  ! 
Now  for  the  policy  shops.  These  are  in  full 
blast  under  the  shadow  of  the  police  station,  and 
some  policemen  are  among  their  chief  patrons. 
There  is  a  policy  shop  in  District  IV.,  and  a 
patrolman  is  said  to  have  staked  his  money  and 
Avon  largely.  My  agent  visited  the  shop  on 
Washington  Street ;  it  is  in  a  back  room,  up  one 
flight,  approached  through  a  dark  alley.  No 
lock  or  bolt  debars  the  entrance.  The  business 
is  conducted  as  openly  as  if  sanctioned  by  city 
authority.  In  a  corner  was  a  table,  and  behind  it 
the  agent  gathered  in  the  spoils.  There  were 
fifteen  persons  present,  the  majority  of  them  poor  ; 
many  black,  and  all  talking  of  the  three  chances  out 
of  seventy-eight.  Hush!  a  messenger  arrives  with 
a  despatch  from  Exchange  Avenue.  All  eyes  are 
strained.  Alas  !  no  luck  for  any  in  that  crowd. 
Crestfallen  they  retire.  This  was  twelve  o'clock, 
and  there  was  another  drawing  at  five.  One  is  be 
hind  a  barber's  shop.  The  sign  reads,  "  Shaving 
done  here,"  and  I  bet  it  is.  One  is  on  Leverett 
Street,  and  there  are  two  more  on  Cambridge 
Street,  one  of  them  run  by  a  colored  man  of  mil 
itary  experience.  There  were  present  at  the  last- 
mentioned  place  nineteen  colored  men,  two  women, 
and  one  white  man.  The  negroes'  propensity  for 


DARK   REVELATIONS   OP   CRIME.  65 

gambling  finds  full  play  in  Boston,  three  fourths 
of  the  above  parties  being  colored.  Some  of 
them  were  war-scarred ;  many  had  fought  bravely 
for  the  bird  of  freedom,  but  they  all  fall  like 
cowards  before  the  claws  of  the  tiger. 

The  King  of  Policy  has  23  agencies  in  Boston, 
with  two  or  three  clerks  at  each,  called  "  writers." 
They  are  paid  15  or  20  per  cent.  I  have  dared 
the  police  again  and  again  to  arrest  that  man. 
He  might  reveal  too  much  for  their  comfort.  He 
boasts  that  he  has  the  heads  of  the  police  at  his 
back,  and  never  has  been  molested.  But  let 
another  man  set  up  the  business,  he  is  hurried  off 
to  jail  forthwith,  no  competition  being  allowed. 
He  is  in  receipt  of  $200  and  $300  a  day,  and 
policemen  are  his  best  friends. 

A  tenant  of  mine  lost  $1,000  or  more  at  his 
shops,  borrowing  wherever  he  could  get  a  dollar, 
and  pawning,  at  last,  his  wife's  furniture.  In  his 
distress  he  went  to  the  Policy  King,  plead  and 
wept,  but  got  nothing  back. 

He  then  placed  his  case  in  the  hands  of  a  detec 
tive,  demanding  $500.  No  one  knows  how  .much 
the  king  gave  the  detective  to  let  him  off  easy. 
It  was  settled  for  $100,  the  detective  taking  $20 
out  of  the  $100,  besides  having  a  salary  from  the 
State.  Glorious  are  the  fruits  of  a  detective ! 
He  bleeds  both  parties,  having  his  bread  buttered 
on  three  sides. 


GO  LECTURE    IN    BOSTON   MUSIC   HALL. 

Of  the  7,600  deaths  in  Boston  last  year,  3,000 
were  caused  by  dissipation  and  vice.  Think  of  it ! 
3,000  prematurely  dead;  2,000  by  licentiousness 
alone!  Think  of  it!  2,000  victims  in  one  year 
reeling  to  the  grave  !  2,000  marked  and  branded 
for  the  sacrifice  !  2,000  of  the  young,  the  fair,  the 
beautiful;  once  the  fond  hope  of  loving  parents, 
ornaments  of  home,  pride  of  the  family  circle. 
What  an  army  of  sin  !  Merciful  heaven  !  Can  it 
be  that  so  many  die  in  Boston  for  want  of  warn 
ing,  die  without  hope,  when  one  half  of  the 
destruction  might  be  prevented  by  strict  enforce 
ment  of  the  law  ?  Can  Boston  stand  this  drain  ? 
Can  she  afford  this  constant  loss  of  vitality  ?  Can 
Boston's  salaried  officials  waste  her  resources? 
Can  they  drink  and  game  and  trifle  when  so  much 
is  at  stake  ?  Have  they  no  better  example  to  set  ? 
No  respect  for  human  life?  No  fear  of  God?  Will 
they  spend  Boston's  nine  millions  of  taxes  only 
to  encourage  dissipation  and  crime?  Forbid  it, 
heaven  ! 

Neither  pulpit,  press,  nor  police  is  awake  to 
its  duty.  Neither  sounds  the  note  of  alarm. 
The  press  is  content  to  give  the  news  ;  the  voice  of 
the  pulpit  is  weak,  and  does  not  reach  one  quarter 
of  the  people.  Who,  then,  shall  warn  young  men? 
Every  watchman  should  be  a  minister  of  warning, 
and  cry,  "  Thus  saith  the  law  !  "  Now,  how  is  law 


DARK    REVELATIONS    OF    CRIME.  67 

enforced  in  Boston?  I  hold  in  my  hand  the  Police 
Commissioners'  Report  for  lust  year.  It  is  a  fraud, 
—  a  blind!  The  report  says:  "There  are  one 
hundred  and  one  places  where  it  is  suspected  that 
liquor  is  sold  in  a  small  way  without  a  license." 
Whut !  only  one  hundred  and  one  ?  Why  there 
are  over  1,000  unlicensed  drinking-places  in  Bos 
ton  !  There  are  more  than  one  hundred  in  Ward 
XVI.  alone,  forty  within  a  few  rods  of  each  other; 
seventeen  in  one  street;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
houses  of  ill-fame.  How  about  gambling-houses? 
How  many  of  these  places  are  only  suspected? 
On  that  head  the  report  is  silent.  Yet  there  are  a 
hundred  gambling-places  in  Boston  running  night 
and  day.  The  gambling  mania  has  become  an 
epidemic.  For  fifty  years  the  laws  against  lotteries 
have  been  enforced  ;  not  a  Boston  paper  dared 
publish  their  advertisements.  To-day  lotteries 
are  openly  advertised,  and  thousands  of  dollars 
monthly  go  through  the  Boston  post-office  to  Ken 
tucky  and  New  Orleans. 

Now  for  the  hidden  crimes  that  are  hourly 
brought  to  light.  Unburied  victims  are  swept  up 
by  nearly  every  tide,  rising  from  the  river  like 
accusing  ghosts,  demanding  vengeance  on  the 
heads  of  their  destroyers.  Boston's  Sabbath  bells 
never  toll  without  striking  the  knell  of  some  un- 
buried,  murdered  victim.  Who  are  these  un- 


68  LECTURE    IN    BOSTON    MUSIC   HALL. 

claimed  dead?  Ask  the  mournful  waves  of  the 
harbor  !  Ask  the  dark  waters  of  the  Back  Bay  ! 
Ask  the  woods  and  the  fields  !  Ask  the  houses  of 
mystery,  whose  doors  open  only  to  the  magic  touch 
of  gold  I  Ask  the  hundred  so-called  doctors,  male 
and  female,  borrowing  honored  titles  to  cover 
deeds  of  darkness  and  blood  I 

Look  at  that  unknown  victim  floating  in  the 
Back  Bay  !  Look  at  that  ghastly,  mutilated  corpse 
thrown  from  Lynn  bridge,  which  has  been  the  hor 
ror  and  mystery  of  two  cities.  See  the  weeping 
and  wailing  of  relatives  and  friends  !  Hear  the 
indignant  murmurs  of  an  outraged  community. 
See  tlrrt  wife,  discovered  by  her  heart-broken  hus 
band  in  a  Court  Street  den.  She  clings  to  him, 
and  cries,  "  Oh !  forgive  me !  Pardon  me,  my 
husband !  I  have  done  wrong ! "  and  dies  in  his 
arms,  the  victim  of  malpractice.  See  that  young 
girl  in  the  hands  of  a  notorious  quack  on  Harrison 
Avenue.  Child  of  wealth  and  affluence,  TEMPTED, 
BETRAYED,  AND  DESERTED,  she  flies  in  desperation 
to  an  unhallowed  sanctuary,  yields  to  the  em 
piric's  deadly  art.  In  dying  agony,  she  prays  that 
her  mother  may  be  called.  "Oh,  mother  !  mother  ! 
I  'm  lost !  I  'm  lost ! "  She  pours  into  that  fond 
mother's  bosom  the  story  of  her  sin  and  shame. 
So  swells  the  record  of  Boston's  hidden  crimes. 
Hundreds  of  such  tragedies  of  yearly  occurrence 


DARK    REVELATIONS    OF    CRIME.  69 

that  never  reach  the  ear  of  the  police  or  meet  the 
eye  in  public  print.  Who  of  all  these  twofold 
murderers  have  ever  been  tried  in  Boston,  save 
two,  —  Madam  Goodrich,  the  murderer  of  Jennie 
Clark,  and  the  Dearborn  woman  on  Court  Street? 
She  could  not  get  bail,  so  she  was  sentenced  seven 
years  to  prison.  Those  getting  bail, — they  can 
escape.  Oh !  ye  pre-natal  murderers !  Thank 
your  stars  that  ye  have  money  and  friends  !  Ye 
still  live  !  walk  the  streets  with  an  unblushing 
front ;  still  preach  and  practise  free  love  !  while 
your  victims  die  in  shame,  without  even  a  Chris 
tian  burial.  Yet  the  police  report  but  one  case  in 
1877,  and  only  nine  cases  in  1878,  when  900  cases 
would  be  nearer  the  mark.  So  much  for  crime  in 
Boston.  So  will  it  ever  be  while  district  attorneys 
have  plenary  power  to  quash  and  annul  at  will. 

The  police  are  not  wholly  to  blame  for  the  non- 
execution  of  the  law.  They  arrest,  but  the  district 
attorney  discharges.  One  policeman  states  he  has 
arrested  over  forty  persons.  Not  one  out  of  ten 
came  to  trial. 

In  Suffolk  County,  in  one  year,  there  Avere  1 ,667 
liquor  cases.  Out  of  these  only  fourteen  person 
were  convicted ;  five  hundred  and  two  were  nolle 
prot'd,  and  1,136  laid  on  file,  never  to  be  called 
up  again  ! 

What  use  for  police  to  arrest  when  nobody  is 
convicted?  What  use  for  philanthropists  to  labor, 


70  LECTURE   IN   BOSTON   MUSIC   HALL. 

spend  time  and  money,  when  one  man, ""by  the 
stroke  of  his  pen,  can  override  judge,  jury,  law, 
and  justice? 

Why  not  dispense  with  judge  and  jury  ?  Why 
pay  hundreds  of  dollars  a  day  for  mockeries  ?  Let 
the  attorney  o*r  the  attorney's  clerk  do  the  work. 
Call  him  king,  emperor,  dictator,  or  what  you 
please.  No  need  of  constitutions,  legislatures,  or 
laws.  He  is  a  law  unto  himself.  Let  all  men 
bow.  The  crier  would  then  open  the  court  in  this 
way  :  "  Oyez  !  Oyez  !  Oyez  !  All  persons  having 
any  business  before  this  honorable  court  will  now 
draw  near  and  give  attention.  It  is  hereby  de 
clared  that  all  cases  coming  before  this  court  shall 
be  settled  by  the  attorney's  clerk,  nolens  volens. 
He  shall  have  power  to  nolle  pros.,  lay  on  file, 
pigeon-hole,  kill,  or  bury  ;  and  that  judge,  jury, 
lawyers,  witnesses,  and  constables  be  dismissed  as 
useless  appendages.  Fiat  justitia,  mat  clceum! 
God  save  the  Commonwealth  ! " 

No  wonder  crime  is  rampant,  rogues  are  bold, 
law  defied  ;  no  wonder  grim  murder  stalks  through 
the  land.  Three  murderers  hanged  in  New  Eng 
land  in  one  day ! 

CAN  BOSTON  BE  REDEEMED?  I  had  a  dream 
which  was  not  all  a  dream.  I  saw  Boston  petrified 
like  the  valley  of  dry  bones  which  Ezekiel  saw. 
Petrified  by  sin  !  Hush  !  Hark  !  The  enchanter's 
wand  has  waved  over  the  city.  Touched  the  in- 


DARK    REVELATIONS   OF   CRI31E.  71 

habitants.  They  are  held  in  magic  spell.  In 
their  icy  coldness  let  me  photograph  and  weigh 
them.  All  stand  in  the  place,  attitude  and  posture 
in  which  the  spell  smote  them.  All  are  hushed, 
breathless,  death-like,  silent.  There  the  de 
bauchee,  with  cup  at  his  lips.  There  the  gambler 
at  his  cards  There  the  burglar,  with  keys  and 
lantern  in  hand.  There  the  midnight  assassin, 
with  knife  upraised. 

Now  judgment  falls.  They  are  weighed,  and 
the  scene  changes !  Here  is  the  actor  at  the 
crowded  theatre  The  audience,  with  hands  ex 
tended  to  applaud  !  Here  the  judge  on  the  bench  ; 
culprit  at  the  bar;  jury  in  the  box.  Here  the 
preacher  in  his  pulpit  and  his  flock  in  the  pews,  — 
all  cold,  motionless,  frozen  as  marble.  Morally, 
this  is  Boston.  There  is  no  breath,  no  life  in  her. 
Again  the  scene  changes  !  Ezekiel  saw  bone  come 
to  bone,  and  flesh  and  beauty  cover  them.  There 
stands  the  maiden  at  her  toilet ;  the  student  at  his 
books;  the  professor  before  his  class.  Yet  there 
is  "  no  breath  in  them."  This,  too,  in  Boston. 

Oh  !  Boston  !  Boston  !  Thou  art  weighed  and 
found  wanting.  There  is  "no  breath  in  thee.'' 
E}  es  that  see  not !  Ears  that  hear  not !  Hearts 
that  beat  not !  "  Prophesy  !  "  Can  these  bones 
live?  Hark!  From  the  court,  the  prisons,  and 
the  tombs  comes  the  wail,  "No  breath  in  them  !" 
Hark !  The  waves  of  ocean  rolling  up  from 


72  LECTURE    IN   BOSTON   MUSIC  HALL. 

Plymouth  Rock,  crying,  "  No  breath  in  them ! " 
Hark  !  From  Copp's  Hill,  the  graves  of  the  Puri 
tan  fathers,  the  Wilsons,  the  Cottons,  the  Mathers. 
They  cry,  "Has  it  come  to  this?  No  breath  in 
them  !  Where  is  the  inheritance  we  left  our  chil 
dren?  "  Hark!  From  Old  South,  Old  North, 
and  the  classic  halls  of  old  Harvard  !  "  No  breath 
in  them !  "  Angels  whisper,  and  the  winds  of 
heaven  answer,  "  No  BREATH  IN  THEM  !  "  Oh  I 
ye  watchmen  on  the  towers  of  Zion  !  Ye  prophets 
of  the  Lord  !  Prophesy  !  Can  these  bones  live  ? 
"Yes!  the  Lord  hath  spoken.  His  promises  are 
sure,  and  amen ! "  In  the  name  of  God,  cry  to 
the  four  winds.  Oh,  Breath  !  breathe  upon  these 
slain !  Spirit  Omnipotent !  breathe  upon  these 
dry  bones  !  Breathe  upon  the  press,  the  bar,  the 
church  !  Breathe  upon  Liberalism !  Breathe 
upon  the  cold  formalities  of  Orthodoxy  !  Breathe 
upon  Boston  !  Once  more  may  Boston  rise  and 
shine  among  the  high  places  of  the  earth  !  Let 
the  electric  spark  from  heaven  touch  her  heart  and 
bring  her  to  life.  Then  shall  her  multitudes  keep 
holy  day !  Churches  be  filled !  Her  Sabbath 
bells  peal  with  anthems  of  praise  !  Her  liquor 
saloons  be  closed,  gambling  dens  abolished,  sin 
be  abated,  and  Boston  redeemed.  And  Boston, 
from  her  triune  hills  and  classic  halls,  shall  sing, 
«  Hallelujah  !  hallelujah  !  The  Lord  God  omnip 
otent  reigneth ! " 


CHAPTER    IV. 

OILDERSLEEVE    MANSION.  —  SERVANTS    IN    A    FROLIC. 

"  I  DECLAR'  !  Dat  ain't  good  manners  !  No,  it 
't ain't!"  exclaimed  the  colored  servant,  Sambo, 
to  Mrs.  Dawkins's  guests  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
Gildersleeve  mansion  on  Beacon  Hill.  ';  Jus'  what 
de  old  proverb  say,  — 

'  When  de  old  cat  be  away, 
Den  de  mice  dey  play.'  " 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter,  Sambo  ?  "  said  Gaddy 
Glibbens,  who  had  now  been  installed  for  a  w^eek 
as  Mrs.  Dawkins's  chief  assistant.  "  We  ain't 
a-doin'  any  harm.  We  're  only  tellin'  fortunes." 

.  "  Tellin'  fortunes  !  Should  fink  you  war  !  Call 
dat  tellin'  fortunes  —  knockin'  ober  t'ings,  an' 
makin'  such  a  rumpus  as  dis  yere  !  " 

"  Don't  you  be  alarmed,  Sambo,''  said  Mrs. 
Dawkins,  laughing.  "I  have  charge  here  during 
my  master's  absence,  and  I  '11  see  that  no  damage 
is  done." 

"  All  right,  Miss  Dawkins,"  said  Sambo. 


74  GILDERSLEKVE    MANSION. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! "  laughed  Mrs.  Dawkins.  "  Now 
you  have  spilled  the  salt,  Gaddy  Glihbens  !  That 
means  you  '11  have  a  quarrel  with  somebody.  You 
and  Jonathan  will  have  a  falling  out,  sure  as  the 
world  ! " 

"  Then  I  '11  spoil  the  sign,"  said  Jerks,  throw 
ing  a  pinch  of  the  salt  over  his  shoulder.  "  That  '11 
stop  the  quarrel !  " 

"  Oh  !  see  this  long  stick  in  my  tea !  "  cried 
Gaddy.  "  That 's  a  sign  of  a  lover.  What  a  tall 
fellow  he  must  be  !  " 

"Means  me,  of  course,"  said  Jonathan,  pulling 
up  his  dicky.  "Ain't  I  about  as  tall  as  they 
make  'em  ?  " 

"  P'r'aps  you  '11  turn  out  one  of  them  crooked 
sticks,  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Dawkins. 

"  You  white  folks  is  wuss  dan  de  colored  folks 
down  Souf,"  said  Sambo,  looking  on  with  an  air 
of  disdain.  "You  b'lieb  in  signs  wuss  dan  de 
niggers." 

"There,  my  nose  itches.  It's  a  sign  I'm 
goin'  to  have  a  kiss  from  a  stranger,"  said 
Gaddy. 

"  TV'al,  I'd  jest  like  ter  see  a  stranger  kissin'  you, 
that 's  all,"  exclaimed  Jerks.  "  I  'm  a  stranger, 
though.  Have  n't  seen  you  for  three  weeks, 
Gaddy.  By  hokey !  That  means  me  every 
time  !  " 


SERVANTS   IN   A   FROLIC.  75 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Jonathan  caught 
Gaddy  and  gave  her  a  sounding  smack. 

Sambo's  dignity  gave  way  at  this.  His  loud 
guffaw  was  heard  above  the  laughter  of  the 
rest. 

"  Guess  you,  Jonathan  Jerks,  am  goin'  ter 
marry  Miss  Giddy !  I  fought  you  was  mighty 
sweet  on  her.  Hi !  yi !  Hopes  you  '11  ask  dis 
yer  fellah  ter  de  weddin'.  Miss  Giddy,  she  hung 
cle  chicken  wish-bone  ober  de  door,  an"  tole  me 
dat  de  fus'  man  dat  enters  de  room  would  be  her 
liusban '.  Suah  as  de  world,  you  was  de  fus'  man 
dat  come  in  !  Ya  !  ya  !  " 

"  I  declare  if  there  ain't  three  lamps  burning  all 
in  a  row,"  said  Mrs.  Dawkins.  "I  never  knew 
that,  sign  to  fail ! 

"  What 's  dat  ar  a  sign  ob  ?  "  asked  Sambo. 

''  Why,  of  a  wedding  to  be  sure." 

"  Yah !  yah !  "When  all  de  signs  am  so  obspi- 
cious "  —  Sambo  probably  meant  auspicious  — 
"  guess  Miss  Giddy  an'  Mars'  Jerks  got  it  all  fixed 
up.  Dat  accounts  for  what  I  heerd  you 's  sayin' 
ter  Missus  Dawkins  dis  mornin'  'bout  de  baby 
quession." 

Gaddy  blushed,  and  Jonathan  looked  sheepish 
at  this. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  ninny?"  said  Mrs. 
Dawkins,  frowning  at  Sambo.  "  All  Miss  Gaddy 


76  GILDERSLEEVE    MANSION. 

said  was,  that  a  baby  ought  to  be  always  carried 
vp-stairs  before  you  carried  it  down-stniTs." 

"  Yah  !  yah  !  Jus'  what  I  sed  !  What  dat  mean, 
now?  " 

tf  It  means  that  it  makes  the  baby  high-minded 
to  carry  him  up-stairs  first." 

"Yah  !  yah  !  Well,  guess  bettah  wait  till  you  's 
git  de  baby  'fore  you  carry  uin  up-stairs  ! '' 

"  You  sarcy  fellow  !  "  said  Gaddy,  turning  away 
her  blushing  face. 

"  Yah  !  yah !  Ole  Sambo  mus'  hab  his  joke, 
Miss  Giddy.  Don'  yer  go  an'  be  'fended,  now. 
'T  ain't  nuffin'  ter  git  mad  'bout." 

"Your  master  must  be  pooty  well  off,  Sambo," 
said  Jonathan,  to  turn  the  subject.  "  I  calkilate 
now  this  'ere  house  an'  fixin's  must  ha'  cost  a  right 
down  harndsome  sum  of  money." 

"  Mars'  Gilderslccbc  's  one  ob  de  riches'  men 
in  Boston,"  said  Sambo,  proudly.  "  Guess  he 
kin  afford  ter  hal)  de  stylish  city  house  —  ter  say 
nuffin'  ob  de  ole  homestead  in  de  country  —  an' 
what  you  call  de  fixings  besides.  Don't  beleebe 
you  eber  saw  such  fixin's  way  up  dar  in  Xoo 
Hum'shire  —  dat  I  don'.  You  jes'  come  up-stairs 
wid  me,  an'  I  '11  show  you  somefin'  dat  will  make 
yer  open  yer  eyes." 

This  was  exactly  what  Jonathan  was  after. 
Accordingly  the  whole  party  followed  Sambo  to 


SERVANTS    IN    A    FROLIC.  77 

the  upper  parts  of  the  house.  Pausing  in  the 
.spacious  hall,  Sambo  directed  the  Yankee's  atten 
tion  to  the  various  objects  which  adorned  it,  and 
then  unlocking  a  door  to  the  right,  he  conducted 
them  into  the  parlor. 

"What  you  t'ink  ob  dis?"  he  said,  after  light 
ing  the  jets  of  a  large  bronze  chandelier. 

It  was  certainly  the  most  astonishing  sight 
Jonathan  Jerks  ever  beheld,  notwithstanding  his 
European  experience.  He  was  fairly  dazzled  with 
the  splendor  of  rich  furniture,  costly  works  of 
art,  crimson  and  lace  curtains,  full-length  mir 
rors,  and  a  thousand  and  one  specimens  of  hric.-a- 
brac  teeming  on  every  hand.  But  though  amazed, 
the  Yankee  outwardly  maintained  a  cool,  indiffer 
ent  air. 

"Think  of  it?  Oh!  It's  pretty  fair  for  a 
museum,"  he  said.  "But  I  should  think  the  folks 
would  be  afraid  to  walk  round  here,  for  fear  of 
knockin'  over  somethin'  an'  smashin'  things  gen 
erally." 

Sambo's  eyes  opened  to  their  widest  extent. 
Such  language  as  this  Avas  almost  profanation,  was 
little  short  of  sacrilege  to  his  mind. 

"  Wha'  —  wha'  yer  say  ?  "  he  almost  gasped. 
"  Call  dese  yer  magnifumcent  parlors  a  musheum  ? 
Wai,  I  declar  cf  I  fought  you  was  such  a  igno- 
ruiiius,  Mars'  Jerks." 


<8  GILDERSLEKVK    MANSION. 

"What's  that  thing  hangin' up  there?"  Jona 
than  asked,  pointing  to  an  escutcheon  over  one  of 
the  marble  mantel-pieces. 

"Thing!"  repeated  the  indignant  Sambo. 
"  Dat  is  de  coat-ob-arms  ob  Missus  Gildersleebe  s 
family,  I  would  jus'  hab  you  understan',  Mars' 
Jerks.  Missus  is  de  descendent  ob  one  ob  de 
great  'ristocratic  families.  Her  ginyology  goes 
way  back  troo'  de  Wint'rops,  an'  de  Trumbles, 
an'  de  Addumses, —  an'  de  good  Lor'  on'y  knows 
what  else." 

"  Should  n't  wonder  ef  it  went  back  ter  the  old 
Adam  himself — him  that  kicked  up  such  a  muss 
in  the  Garden  of  Eden,"  said  Jonathan,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Sambo  disdained  to  answer  this  remark,  and 
next  conducted  the  party  across  the  parlors  to  the 
conservatory. 

"Talk  about  de  Garden  ob  Eden,"  said  Sambo, 
throwing  open  the  door  with  an  air  of  triumph. 
MVha'  you's  say  ter  dis$  Here  am  de  fines'  pri 
vate  conservumtoiy  in  de  Ian',  I  tell  you!  Trees 
and  flowers  way  from  Egupt,  Yurrup,  and  Souf 
'Mcrika  !  Guess  you's  nebber  see  any  anytin'  like 
dis  yer  b'fore  !  " 

"I  should  call  it  all  a  big  waste  o'  money,"  said 
the  practical  Yankee.  "  I  'd  a  sight  ruther  hcv 
my  garding  a-growin'  outdoors.  The  smell  of  ail 


SERVANTS    IN    A    FROLIC.  79 

them  flowers  in  a  room 's  enough  to  make  a  feller 
sick.  Phew  !  le's  git  out  of  here.  It  puts  me  in 
mind  ov  a  funeral !  " 

Eoom  after  room  was  visited,  each  presenting  a 
scene  of  the  most  lavish  adornment.  At  last  they 
came  to  a  handsomely  furnished  chamber. 

"This  was  poor  Master  Fred's  room,"  said  Mrs. 
Dawkins,  with  a  sigh.  "  They  perfectly  doated  on 
him  —  their  eldest  born." 

"Dead,  eh?"  said  Jerks. 

"Jus'  two  year  ago,"  Sambo  answered,  shaking 
his  woolly  head.  "  Dey  felt  mighty  bad  about  it, 
Mars'  Jerks,  I  ken  tell  yer." 

"  And  the  room  has  never  been  used  since  the 
funeral,"  added  the  housekeeper.  "  Mrs.  Gilder- 
sleeve  said  to  me,  — '  Hannah,  you  will  see  that 
Mr.  Fred's  room  is  kept  locked  up ;  open  it  only 
when  necessary  to  dust  and  air  it.' " 

"  Gosh  !  You  don't  say  !  "  exclaimed  Jonathan. 
"Did  the  young  feller  hev  the  small-pox  or  any  of 
those  'ere  ketchin'  diseases  ?  " 

"Nuffin  ob  de  kind,"  said  Sambo.  "He  just 
done  gone  an'  tumbled  out  ob  dis  yer  winder." 

"  Tumbled  out  the  winder ! "  repeated  Jerks, 
while  Gaddy  gave  a  little  cry  of  horror. 

"Oh,  do  tell  us  all  about  it.  Mrs.  Dawkins." 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  telling,  only  you  must 
promise  never  to  lisp  a  word,  for  it 's  a  family 


80  GILDEKSLEEVE    MANSION. 

secret,  you  see.  Draw  up  them  chairs  and  set 
down  here  then." 

"How  mysterious  you  be,  Aunt  Dawkins,"  said 
Gaddy,  all  in  a  flutter.  "Dear  me!  I  do  hope 
it's  nothin'  about  ghosts  yew  're  goin'  ter  tell  us." 

"  Don't  talk  about  ghosts  !  How  ridiculous  you 
are,  Gaddy  Glibbens,"  retorted  the  housekeeper. 

Sambo  shook  his  head  gravely,  but  drew  nearer 
to  the  group  who  had  now  seated  themselves  close 
together.  The  lamp  which  the  negro  held  in  his 
hand  cast  a  fitful  light  around  the  apartment,  —  on 
the  walls,  the  closed  shutters,  on  the  disused  bed 
stead  in  one  dark  corner.  A  chill  somehow 
seemed  to  run  through  the  veins  of  all,  produced 
by  Gaddy 's  uncanny  remark. 

"  Wha'  for  you  talk  'bout  de  spooks,  Miss 
Giddy?  "said  Sambo.  "You  should  n't  orter  say 
nuffin'  'bout  such  t'ings  in  dis  yer  house." 

"Poh!  Ghosts  are  all  fiddlesticks!"  said  the 
matter-of-fact  Yankee.  "Dead  folks  never  come 
ter  life  nowadays." 

"Dumio  'bout  dat,"  persisted  Sambo,  with  a 
mysterious  air.  "  Guess  ef  Missus  Dawkins  an' 
we  war  a  mind  ter,  we  could  tell  yer  'bout  de 
strange  sounds  an'  de  noises  we  's  heard  yer  in  de 
dead  o'  night  since  de  folks  been  away." 

"  All  your  imagination,  or  the  wind  rattlin'  the 
blinds,"  returned  Jonathan.  "  But  go  on  with 


SERVANTS    IN   A    FROLIC.  81 

your  story,  Miss  Dawkins.  The  'spooks,'  as  you 
call  'em,  Sambo,  won't  show  themselves  while 
/  'm  'round,  you  can  bet !  " 

Thus  adjured,  the  housekeeper  proceeded  to 
unfold  her  tale,  which  was  as  follows  :  — 

Fred  Gildersleeve  was  the  eldest  son.  He 
was  dissipated,  and  by  degrees  became  a 
confirmed  drunkard.  One  night  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve  with  Gertrude  had  gone  to  a  party, 
leaving  Mrs.  Dawkins  and  Sambo  to  await  their 
arrival  home.  Midnight  sounded  and  they  had 
not  come.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Dawkins  heard  some 
one  fumbling  at  the  front  door.  She  called 
Sambo.  They  went  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and 
Fred  Gildersleeve,  dreadfully  intoxicated,  fell 
across  the  threshold.  Sambo  quickly  helped  him 
to  his  feet,  and  then  assisted  him  to  his  chamber. 
Soon  after  the  family  returned. 

"Has  Mr.  Fred  come  home?"  Mrs.  Gilder 
sleeve  inquired.  The  housekeeper  told  her  that 
he  had,  and  had  gone  to  his  room. 

"It  was  really  too  bad,'' said  Gertrude,  "that 
brother  Fred  didn't  go  with  us.  He  promised 
me  he  would  go,  and  stay  away  from  that  horrid 
club  for  one  night." 

"Your  brother  is  fonder  of  his  club  than  of 
ladies'  society,  Gertrude,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve. 
"I  am  glad  indeed  that  he  did  not  go.  Mrs. 
Dawkins,  did  my  son  come  home  sober?" 


82  GILDEKSLEKVE    MANSION. 

The  housekeeper  sadly  shook  her  head. 

"Mr.  Gildersleeve,"  said  his  wife,  sternly, 
"this  thing  must  be  stopped.  It  is  time  for  you 
to  exert  your  parental  authority..  Are  we  to  be 
disgraced  by  this  shameless  son  ?  " 

Before  Mr.  Gildersleeve  could  answer,  before 
the  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  wife's  mouth, 
they  were  startled  by  a  sudden  noise.  A  window 
was  heard  to  open,  and  then  a  heavy  body  fell 
with  a  dreadful  thud  upon  the  ground  without, 
while  the  midnight  air  was  filled  for  an  instant 
with  a  horrible,  unearthly  shriek ;  and  then  all 
was  hushed. 

"It  is  Fred!  My  God!  He  has  fallen  from 
the  window !  "  cried  Mr.  Gildersleeve  ;  and  fol 
lowed  by  Sambo  and  the  others,  he  rushed  out 
into  the  garden. 

A  terrible  sight  met  their  horrified  gaze. 

Lying  in  a  heap  under  the  window,  his  face 
covered  with  blood,  his  form  quivering,  was  the 
unfortunate  young  man.  He  was  unconscious. 

"Quick!  Run  for  Dr.  Lancet,  Sambo,"  cried 
Mr.  Gildersleeve. 

The  physician  soon  arrived  and  the  still  uncon 
scious  youth  was  borne  to  his  chamber. 

"I  can  give  you  no  hope,"  said  the  doctor  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "He  can  survive  but 
a  few  days." 


SERVANTS   IN   A   FROLIC.  63 

Gertrude  and  the  housekeeper  were  the  dying 
man's  constant  attendants.  He  clung  to  his  sister, 
who  tenderly  loved  him.  When  he  regained  con 
sciousness,  his  first  words  were  for  Gertrude. 

"  Oh,  Gerty,  do  not  leave  me,''  he  said,  faintly. 
"I  fear  that  I  shall  die.  Oh!  I  cannot,  cannot 
die  !  Oh  !  Send  for  the  doctor  !  Why  does  he 
leave  me  for  a  moment  ?  Tell  my  mother  to  come 
to  my  side.  Oh  !  mother !  mother !  Why  did 
you  put  the  wine  before  me  ?  Why  did  you  have 
it  on  the  table?  You  taught  me  first  to  drink. 
You  said  it  was  fashionable.  Told  me  that  wine 
never  hurt  anybody  !  And  yet  it  has  brought  me 
to  this  !  Where  is  the  minister  ?  Where  is  Mr. 
St.  Claire?  Why  does  he  not  come  to  give  me 
consolation?  Why  is  he  not  here  to  pour  balm 
upon  my  troubled  spirit  ?  " 

"  Mr.  St.  Claire  is  here,  brother,"  said  the 
weeping  Gertrude,  making  way  for  the  clergyman 
to  approach. 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  you  thus,  Fred,"  said  Mr. 
St.  Claire. 

"Sorry!"  exclaimed  the  dying  youth.  "Well 
may  you  be  sorry !  Look  there ! "  he  added, 
with  sudden  energy,  pointing  to  a  decanter  of 
wine  on  the  table.  "  How  many  times  have  you 
drank  that  vile  poison  with  me !  How  many 
times  have  you  laughed  and  joked  over  the  wine 


84  GILDEKSLEEVE   MANSION. 

in  my  presence  !  Oh  !  Do  you  know  that  rum 
has  killed  me?  I  came  home  drunk,  and  fell 
from  yonder  window!  Drunk,  because  of  your 
example,  my  father's,  even  my  mother's  example. 
Oh  !  Why  did  you  not  warn  me  ?  It  was  your 
duty  as  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  to  warn  me. 
If  you  had  only  warned  me,  showed  me  my  weak 
ness,  told  me  of  my  danger,  oh,  sir,  I  might  have 
been  a  redeemed  man,  an  honor  to  myself  and  to 
my  family." 

The  words  died  away  almost  to  a  whisper. 
Before  they  could  spring  to  his  aid  an  awful  pallor 
settled  upon  his  face.  His  eyes  closed.  He  fell 
back  dead ! 

Such  was  Mrs.  Dawkins's  story. 

"Oh,  wasn't  it  dreadful!"  said  Gaddy,  her 
eyes  suffused  with  tears. 

"  Guess  you  'd  fought  so  ef  you  'd  been  yer, 
Miss  Giddy,"  said  Sambo.  "  It  was  de  mourn- 
fullest  time  I  eber  seed.  Poor  Miss  Gertrood 
took  on  de  wust  ob  all.  It  did  seem  as  ef  nuffin' 
would  comfort  her.  I  b'lieb  ef  it  hed  n't  been  for 
Father  Titus,  she  'd  a  gone  ravin'  distracted.  He 
seemed  to  be  de  on'y  one  dat  could  do  Missy  any 
good.  It  war  an  awfu'  blow  ter  de  proud  mudder, 
ter  t'ink  dat  her  on'y  darter,  dat  she  a'most  wus- 
ships,  would  n't  lissen  ter  noboddy  but  de  Cat'olio 
priest." 


SERVANTS    IN   A    FROLIC.  85 

"  Wai,"  said  Jerks,  "  I  should  'a'  thought  Mr. 
Fred's  death  would  'a'  been  a  warnin'  tor  his  father 
an'  mother.  I  should  n't  thought  they  'd  ever 
dared  ter  hev'  another  drop  of  the  durned  p'ison 
in  the  house." 

"Jus'  wha'  Mars'  Gildersleeve  said  hisself," 
said  Sambo.  "  But  den  yer  see  Missus  wouldn't 
see  it  in  dat  light.  She  nebber  would  'low  dat  it 
was  do  liquor  dat  killed  Mars'  Fred.  It  was  an 
aceydunt,  —  she  called  it,  dat  might  'a'  happened  ef 
he  'd  nebber  seed  a  glass  of  wine  or  brandy.  So 
you  see  de  Missus  swung  ole  Mars'  round  ter  her 
way  ob  finking,  cos  it  am  fash'nable  ter  pass 
round  de  Champagne  an'  de  Claret  and  de 
Madeery  an'  de  French  brandy  in  de  tiptop 
s'ciety." 

"  Wai,"  said  Jerks,  as  they  all  proceeded  down 
stairs,  K?  tiptop'  society  may  count'nance  such 
customs,  but  ef  it  do,  there  '11  be  a  reck'nin'  for  it, 
sure  as  the  Bible.  You  jist  mark  my  word  an' 
see  ef  a  judgment  don't  follow  to  parents  that 
won't  take  notice  of  such  a  plain  warnin*  as 
you  've  been  tellin'  about,  Mrs.  Dawkins." 


CHAPTEE  V. 

VISIT  TO  MR.  GILDERSLEEVE'S  OFFICE.  —  MY  AGEXTS 
AT  WORK. 

ON  arriving  in  Boston  I  learned  that  many  lead 
ing  citizens  let  buildings  for  disreputable  purposes. 
I  resolved  to  enlist  the  co-oporation  of  the  wealthy. 
I  drew  up  a  paper  for  property-owners  to  sign. 
It  read  as  follows  :  "We,  the  undersigned,  owners 
and  controllers  of  real  estate  in  Boston,  do  pledge 
ourselves  not  to  let  our  buildings  for  disreputable 
purposes." 

To  this  pledge  I  secured  signatures  representing 
two  and  a  half  millions.  I  met  with  hearty  en 
couragement  from  many  of  Boston's  richest  men. 
But  I  also  encountered  opposition  from  quarters 
least  expected.  From  members  of  the  State  and 
city  government,  even  from  church  officials. 
They  derided  the  idea,  —  refused  to  indorse  the 
document.  I  made  some  discoveries  that  explained 
this  opposition.  One  church  dignitary  was  par 
ticularly  severe  in  his  remarks.  He  owned,  I 
found,  whole  blocks  of  houses  let  for  purposes  of 
slmme.  Nearly  every  inmate  was  engaged  in  a  dis 
creditable  calling.  No  wonder  he  Avould  not  sign. 


MY   AGENTS   AT   WORK.  87 

One  was  a  minister.  I  found  even  lie  let  his 
houses  for  infamous  purposes.  Pocketed  the 
double  toll  of  vice  and  sin.  Another  man  —  a 
candidate  at  one  time  for  governor  of  the  State  — 
also  refused  his  signature.  He  raved  and  stormed 
at  the  very  sight  of  the  paper.  "  AVhat  !  "  he  cried. 
"Put  my  name  to  that?  Never!  It  was  an  un 
warrantable  interference,"  he  said.  "An  infringe 
ment  on  private  rights." 

"\Vliy  did  this  man  oppose  the  measure  ?  Be 
cause  he  had  a  large  income  from  property  leased 
to  liquor  sellers  and  even  for  viler  purposes.  I 
found  one  association  leased  100  liquor  shops,  to 
say  nothing  of  houses  of  worse  repute.  One 
estate  lets  20  houses  mostly  for  infamous  pur 
poses.  Another  estate  leases  40  immoral  houses. 

Even  within  a  stone's  throw  of  my  own  dwell 
ing  are  a  score  of  such  places.  One  has  existed 
for  years  right  under  the  eaves  of  my  church.  I 
have  complained  time  and  again  to  the  police 
authorities,  but  nothing  is  done  to  break  it  up. 
Two  doors  from  my  chapel  a  woman  was  arrested 
for  keeping  a  human  slaughter-house,  —  an  illicit 
lying-in  hospital.  Next  door  to  that  a  quack  was 
arrested  for  the  murder  of  both  mother  and  child. 
The  blood  of  infants  reek  to  heaven  !  The  very 
<  ones  of  the  street  cry  out ! 

Many  of  these  dens  and  houses  of  shame  are 


88      VISIT  TO  MIL  GILDERSLEEVE'S  OFFICE. 

to-day,  covertly  or  openly,  owned  by  Boston's  so- 
called  "respectable  citizens."  Some  of  them  men 
brimful  of  piety  —  but  precious  little  morality. 
Men  "who  say  grace  at  every  meal ;  tell  sweet  little 
stories  at  the  Sunday  school. 

I  met  some  of  these  men  in  Europe.  They 
spent  their  ill-gotten  riches  with  lavish  hand  and 
ostentatious  display.  They  made  the  name  of 
American  a  laughing  stock  and  by-word,  and 
brought  reproach  upon  their  native  land. 

I  called  upon  Mr.  Gildersleeve,  who  had  re 
turned  from  abroad,  to  secure  his  signature.  His 
elegant  office  was  situated  in  a  magnificent  build 
ing,  the  facade  entirely  of  marble,  with  bronze  and 
marble  groups  in  alto  relievo.  Five  flights  of 
marble  steps  ascend  between  five  rows  of  fluted 
columns  in  gilt  and  variegated  colors.  An  ele 
vator  is  also  at  the  disposal  of  those  wearied  or  in 
haste. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Gildersleeve, 
with  great  cordiality.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you, 
sir?" 

"I  came,  Mr.  Gildersleeve,  to  ask  you  to  sign 
this  paper.  As  a  large  owner  of  real  estate,  I 
think  you  can  have  no  objection." 

I  handed  it  to  him.  He  took  it  and  smiled 
pleasantly,  as  if  happy  to  oblige  me.  But  as  Ip 
perused  it,  his  manner  changed.  He  became  cold 


MY    AGENTS   AT    WOIJK.  89 

and  frigid.  I  had  touched  his  tenderest  part,  — 
his  pocket. 

"No,  sir,  I  decline,"  he  said  stiffly,  handing 
back  the  paper. 

"  But,  Mr.  Gildersleeve  !  think  of  your  property 
interest.  Why,  sir,  there  are  a  thousand  build 
ings  in  Boston,  assessed  at  ten  millions,  that  are 
used  for  disreputable  purposes.  Surely  you  will 
help  suppress  this  state  of  things." 

"  No,  sir.     That  is  the  owner's  business." 

w  But,  sir,  property  owners  owe  a  duty  to  the 
community.  They  should  set  an  example — dis 
courage  vice.  Too  many  of  them  are  willing  to 
accept  the  spoils  of  crime  and  shame.  I  trust, 
Mr.  Gildersleeve,  you  are  not  among  the  num 
ber." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  must  refuse  to  sign.  I  have  my 
own  reasons  for  not  wishing  to  place  my  name  to 
your  paper ;  but  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  them 
now.  You  cannot  change  my  mind." 

Mr.  Gildersleeve  AVUS  an  obstinate  man.  I  had 
attacked  his  private  interests.  He  seemed  to  feel 
that  I  had  invaded  his  "  property  rights."  I  there 
fore  took  my  leave  of  him.  Coming  out  of  Mr. 
Gildersleeve's  office,  I  met  Jonathan  Jerks,  who 
had  become  one  of  my  most  active  and  efficient 
agents. 

"  Wai,  I    swow !     how    du   you    du,"    he    said. 


90      VISIT  TO  MR.  GILDERSLEEVE'S  OFFICE. 

"  Jes'  going  to  report  to  you.     Got  a  whole  heap 
of  facts  for  ye." 

"  Ah  !  Jerks,  what  are  they  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  Ve  been  a  looking  up  the  doings  of 
Boston  pretty  well.  Gosh,  now,  jes'  hear  fact 
number  one  :  There 's  more  'n  two  million  dollars 
spent  in  this  here  city  for  theatricals,  fun  and 
nonsense,  and  only  jes'  about  a  million  and  a  half 
for  public  education.  I  swan,  ain't  that  a  fine 
showing  for  the  city  of  culture,  eh?  " 

Jonathan  twitched  his  eyes,  twisted  his  head 
and  jerked  himself  comically  about. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  continued.  "But  jes'  wait  till 
I  give  ye  fact  number  two,  —  it 's  a  buster  :  There 
is  fifteen  million  of  dollars  invested  in  the  liquor 
trade.  Yes,  sir,  that's  a  solid  fact.  And,  by 
hokey,  ef  that  fifteen  million  don't  boss  politics, 
the  courts,  and  about  the  whole  of  Boston,  then 
I '11  eat  my  head,  I  will.  Why  they  darsent  go 
ag'in  it.  Democrats  and  Republicans  are  afraid  of 
it,  and  have  to  knuckle  down  mighty  close,  I  tell 
ye." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  about  right,"  I  returned. 

"  Right !  you  bet  I  am.  But  jes'  wait  a  minute. 
I  hain't  begun  to  give  you  my  facts.  Now  here  's 
fact  number  three:  There's  more'n  2,000  li 
censed  liquor  dens  in  this  here  city.  Jes'  think 
of  it  — more  'n  2,000  !  Why,  every  bad  house  — 


MY    AGENTS    AT   WORK.  91 

and  there  are  a  thousand  of  them  in  Boston  — 
sells  liquor,  and  inighty  poor  stuff",  too,  as  fur  us 
I  can  hear.  Then  there  's  any  quantity  of  shops 
hain't  no  license.  Gosh !  they  say  there 's  a 
liquor  law,  but  I  kinder  doubt  it.  Don't  see  what 
good  it  does,  anyway." 

Jonathan  capered  about,  flushed  and  excited. 

"  Great  gosh  hemlock  !  If  I  hain't  forgot  fact 
number  four — biggest  of  the  whole  lot,  too.  Wait 
a  second,"  and  he  dived  into  his  coat  pocket  and 
brought  up  a  greasy  slip  of  paper.  "  Great 
Jehosophat  Pease  !  "  cried  Jerks ,  handing  me  the 
paper,  w  jes'  cast  yer  eye  over  this  here  and  see  !  " 

I  took  the  slip  and  glanced  at  it.  But  his 
erratic  hierogylphics  were  too  illegible  to  make 
out. 

"What  is  it?  "I  asked. 

"What  is  it?"  exclaimed  Jerks,  excitedly, 
swinging  his  arms,  as  if  he  had  got  his  elbow- 
crank  right  on  the  evil.  "  Why,  sir,  this  here  is 
a  list  of  nine  ministers  —  ministers  of  the  gospel, 
mind  ye  —  who  belong  to  a  Boston  drinking  club. 
Big,  high-tone  fellows,  too.  None  of  yer  little 
shrimps.  I  swanny  !  What  in  thunder  is  Boston 
a  co tnin'  to  if  her  ministers  are  a  going  to  uphold 
drinking?  Nice  example  they  set  for  their  con 
gregation  to  follow  now,  don't  they,  eh  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  disgrace  to  the  cloth,"  I  rejoined. 


92      VISIT  TO  MR.  GILDERSLEEVK'S  OFFICE. 

"  Jes'  what  I  say,"  said  Jonathan,  warmly.  "  It 
brings  shame  on  to  the  whole  clergy,  to  have  a  lot 
of  the  high-tone  fellows  countenance  liquor  in  this 
way,  I  swow  if  it  don't.  But  I  Ve  larnt  a  thing 
or  two,  I  can  tell  ye.  And  one  thing  is  that  the 
•  liquor  interest 's  got  sunthing  to  say  about  church 
as  well  as  state.  Yes,  sirree,  that 's  so.  They 
stick  their  finger  in  every  pie,  by  hokey,  if  they 
don't.  I  can  tell  you  churches  where  the  big  rum 
seller  is  cock  of  the  walk.  Yes,  sir,  where  priest 
or  parson  flatters  him  up  mighty  high  jes'  to  get 
the  money  wrung  from  poor  drunken  wretches, 
and  from  the  heart's  blood  of  thousands  sent  to 
ruin  by  the  liquor  fiend.  I  swow,  it's  too  all 
fired,  tarnation  mean,  it  is.'* 

And  Jonathan  went  off  like  a  fire-cracker  into 
a  perfect  whirlwind  of  jerks,  brought  his  fist  down 
upon  the  palm  of  his  hand  with  an  emphatic  slap 
of  virtuous  indignation. 

"But  that  ain't  all,  not  by  a  long  chalk,"  he 
continued.  "  Jes'  wait  till  I  stun  you  with  number 
five.  I  've  been  a-looking  up  this  here  gambling 
biz  in  Boston,  and  what  do  I  find?  Why,  that 
there  's  about  SO  policy  shops  in  full  blast,  run 
night  and  day.  And  they  ain't  secret,  either, 
mind  ye.  Kun  jes'  as  open  as  daylight.  The 
police,  they  know  'ern  all.  You  bet  they  do. 
But  they  don't  touch  'em.  Lose  their  head  if 


MY    AOENTS    AT    WO!;K.  93 

they  did.  And  then  there  's  about  50  faro  banks 
and  prop-rooms  in  Boston.  Police  know  them, 
likewise.  Don't  distub  them,  either.  Why,  one 
of  the  big  gamblers  says  he  is  hand  and  glove 
with  the  officers.  They  might  swoop  down  on  the 
poor  heathen  Chinese  and  the  negroes  once  in  a 
while,  jes'  to  let  the  public  think  they  're  smart, 
but  they  don't  dare  to  touch  the  big  whales.  No, 
sir,  not  much." 

"They  should  be  broken  up,"  said  I.  "Let 
public  opinion  be  aroused  and  the  authorities 
would  be  compelled  to  act." 

"  That 's  so.  You  Ve  hit  the  nail  whack  on  the 
head  this  time,"  said  Jonathan,  emphatically  nod 
ding  his  head  and  rolling  his  eyes.  rt  That 's  the 
only  way.  Yes,  sir,  and  you  're  the  man  to  do  it, 
Mr.  Morgan.  I'll  help  all  I  can,  'cause  it's  an 
eternal  shame  to  let  these  'ere  gambling  dens  go 
right  on  under  the  nose  of  the  police  and  nothing- 
done  to  stop  'em.  Why,  sir,  some  of  the  big 
bugs  —  high  officials,  politicians  and  wealthy  mer 
chants  —  go  into  these  places  and  lose  their  mono}7. 
Yes,  sir,  that' s  so.  There 's  a  friend  of  mine  now. 
Come  down  from  Maine.  Dad  give  him  $1,200  to 
pay  the  mortgage  on  the  farm.  Wai,  what  did 
the  fool  do?  Why,  a  smiling  stranger  met  him 
on  the  boat,  and  he  fell  into  his  clutches  as  easy 
:is  rolling  off  a  log.  Got  him  into  one  of  these 


94      VISIT  TO  MR.  GILDEUSLEKVE'S  OFFICE. 

'ere  dens,  and  fleeced  him  out  of  every  red 
cent." 

Jonathan  almost  cried  at  the  remembrance  of 
his  friend's  misfortune. 

"Yes,  sir,  and  then  there  was  a  minister  I 
know'd  of.  Got  pulled  into  one  of  these  places. 
Thought  he  'd  only  look  on.  But  like  a  pesky 
fool,  he  kinder  got  fascinated  and  risked  his 
money.  Lost,  of  course.  They  always  do  in  the 
end.  Wai,  he  lost  $1,800,  every  cent  the  poor 
fellow  had.  Why,  it  made  him  almost  crazy. 
Had  to  beg  like  a  dog  for  enough  money  to  get 
home  with.  Any  quantity  of  cases  jes'  like  it, 
too.  Yes,  sir,  these  'ere  dens  should  be  shut  up 
in  double  quick  time.  But  I  tell  ye  it  '11  take  a 
big  moral  earthquake  to  do  it,  though.  The  big 
whales  are  in  with  the  police  mighty  strong.  Yes, 
sir,  their  affection  for  each  other  is  something  all- 
fired  touching.  Never  seed  nothing  like  it  in  my 
time." 

Jonathan  searched  his  many  pockets,  and  at 
last  brought  out  another  slip  of  paper. 

"  There ,  by  hokey  ! "  said  he ,  impressively.  "  Jes' 
wait  till  I  give  yer  number  six."  It  '11  paralyze 
ye.  There,  look  at  that." 

I  took  the  paper.  It  contained  a  long  list  of 
names. 

"What  are  these?"  I  asked. 


MY    AGENTS    AT    WORK.  95 

"Them?  Them  's  quacks  —  them  's  frauds! 
humbugs !  pre-natal  murderers !  forgers !  con 
victs  !  and  to  sum  'em  all  up  —  rascals  !  and  some 
of  'em  are  mighty  big  ones,  too." 

"They  are  not  genuine  doctors,  then?"  said  I. 

"Genuine — doctors!"  exclaimed  Jerks,  con 
temptuously.  "  Wai,  I  guess  not.  No  more  'n  I'm 
one.  Only  diploma  they  've  got  is  from  State 
Prison  or  House  of  Correction.  I  swan  !  Ef  I 
don't  think  they  are  the  biggest  humbugs  of  all. 
Don't  know  no  more  about  medicine  than  a  hen 
does  of  geology.  They  've  most  all  of  'em  been 
taken  up,  and  sent  to  prison  for  some  crime,  from 
passing  counterfeit  money  to  killing  innocent 
babes.  Sir,  I  tell  ye,  they  're  a  mighty  mean  set. 
But  hold  on.  Jes'  wait  a  minute  till  I  fetch  out 
another  fact." 

And  Jonathan  again  dived  into  his  pockets  and 
brought  forth  an  old  envelope,  scribbled  over  from 
top  to  bottom. 

"  Ah !  Here 's  my  memorandum,"  said  he, 
trying  to  decipher  his  own  scrawls.  "Wai,  sir, 
here  is  facts.  Good,  solid,  substantial  facts.  Wai, 
to  begin  with,  there's  about  200  irreg'lar  doctors 
in  Boston.  Wai,  sir,  out  of  that  'ere  200,  there  's 
only  four  as  has  got  diplomas  from  any  college. 
Some  of  'em  advertise  'Board  and  Nursing.' 
They'll  take  any  case  from  $5  to  $500  or  $1,000. 


96        VISIT   TO   MR.    QILDBB8LEEVE*8   OFFICE. 

By  Jiminy  !  it 's  a  tarnation  shame  they  ain't  in 
State  Prison,  where  they  belong,  the  whole 
caboodle  of  'em." 

And  Jonathan  pranced  around  in  his  indigna 
tion,  wrenching  his  hand  like  a  stove  grate, 
threatening  to  make  it  hot  for  them. 

"Well,  Jerks,"  said  I,  "what  is  your  next 
batch  of  facts." 

''Here  they  are,  right  down  in  black  and  white,' 
said  Jonathan,  turning  his  envelope  over.  "  Xum- 
ber  seven  is  a  crusher.  It's  Sabbath  desecra 
tion.  Why,  sir,  Sunday  in  Boston  is  almost  <i 
holiday.  Yes,  sir,  jes'  as  sure  as  I  'm  a  sinner. 
Why,  jes'  look  at  the  excursions,  the  concerts, 
the  theatrical  seances.  Think  of  it,  and  in  Puri 
tan  Boston,  too.  Gosh  geewhiliky  !  I  'm  thun 
derstruck.  Why,  there  are  8  railroads  ruimiu' 
16  trains  Sunday.  Steamboats  an'  yachts  innu 
merable  down  the  harbor,  all  bound  for  fun  an' 
frolic.  Then,  sir,  there  are  more  'n  a  thousand 
rum-shops  goin'  it  lickity-split  all  day  Sunday  and 
a  big  piece  into  the  night." 

"  Yes,  my  agents  have  reported  them  in  full 
blast  Sundays  as  well  as  other  days,"  I  replied. 

"I  should  say  so  ! "  cried  Jerks,  emphatically. 
"Why,  they  make  more  money  Sunday  than  any 
other  day  of  the  week.  Customers  come  right 
from  church  into  the  rum-shop  and  guzzle  down 


MY   AGENTS    AT   WORK.  97 

poor  gin  and  whiskey  like  greased  lightning. 
But  the  worse  thing  of  the  whole,  an'  what  ought 
to  make  the  old  Puritans  a'most  turn  in  their 
graves,  is  these  here  '  spiritual  seances,'  as  they 
call  'em.  Why,  they  seem  to  have  enamost  taken 
the  place  of  the  Prayer  fleeting,  with  their  table- 
tipping,  hand  showing,  moving  of  pianos  an' 
strumming  of  guitars  an'  the  whole  lot  of  humbug, 
an'  all  done,  too,  in  the  name  of  religion.  Jeho- 
key !  Ef  this  ain't  barefaced  swindling  then  I 
don't  know  what  is  " 

And  Jonathan  showed  his  indignation  all  over, 
jerking  his  head  and  twisting  himself  in  all  man- 
'ner  of  shapes. 

"  Great  Jehosophat  Stubs !  "  he  exclaimed, 
bringing  his  hand  down  heavily  on  his  thigh,  "  an' 
this  is  Boston.  Wai,  I  swow  !  Ef  I  don't  believe 
it 's  about  as  bad  as  Paris.  Yes,  sir,  gambling, 
drinking,  bad  houses,  Sunday  desecration  —  wal, 
I  Bwanny  !  ef  Boston  ain't  in  a  pretty  bad  fix. 
I  Ve  took  a  job  to  help  reform  her,  but  I  guess  I 
got  a  bigger  job  on  hand  than  I  thought  I  had," 
—  turning  up  his  elbow  as  if  it  was  not  big  enough 
to  turn  the  machine. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MIDNIGHT   AT   THE    HUB.  —  MY    OWN   EXPLORATIONS. 

NOT  alone  did  I  trust  to  the  reports  of  my 
agents.  I  was  constrained  to  go  and  see  for  my 
self.  A  voice  from  the  street  called  me ;  the 
burden  of  the  city  was  upon  me.  A  prophet  of 
warning  stood  by  my  side,  and  said,  "  Sleeper, 
awake  !  awake  !  Art  thou  a  watchman  ?  Dost 
them  slumber?  The  burden  of  Boston's  sins  be 
upon  thee  !  Her  crimes  shall  alarm  thee  !  Her 
blood  will  I  require  at  thy  hand."  His  form  was 
as  the  shade  of  night.  His  face  shone  as  the 
stars ;  and  his  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  doom. 
Roused  by  that  dread  spectre  I  was  led  to  the 
street. 

It  was  midnight.  Alone  I  started  on  my  explo 
rations  into  the  Dark  Ways  and  By-Ways  of 
Boston.  A  thick  mi.st  hung  over  the  city.  That 
mist  however  was  not  so  dense  as  the  cloud  of 
Boston's  mysteries  and  crimes.  The  hand  on  the 
dial  of  the  Old  South  pointed  upward  to  twelve. 
It  was  the  noon  of  night.  Hark  !  That  mournful 


MY   OWN   EXPLORATIONS.  99 

note  "Cling!    Clang!   Toll!    Toll!     One  — two 
— three  "  —  up  to  twelve. 

A  great  wave  of  solemn  sound  vibrates  over  the 
city.  Steeple  responds  to  steeple,  belfry  to  bel 
fry.  That  sound  seems  like  the  moaning  of  a  lost 
spirit,  uttering  its  lament  of"  Woe!  Woe!  Woe!" 
to  the  young  men  of  Boston.  I  met  no  watchman 
as  of  old,  crying,  "All's  Well!  All's  Well." 
For  alas  !  It  is  not  well  —  it  is  ILL  with  Boston  ! 

Seven  theatre  trains  have  just  borne  off  their 
rural  loads  !  rumbling  over  the  city  drawbridges, 
over  the  dark  waters  where  lie  lost  and  hidden 
from  mortal  ken  the  countless  unreported  dead  ! 
Xo  flash  of  headlight  can  reveal  their  sepulchre  ! 
Xo  sound  of  whistle  awake  them  !  X^o  cannon's 
roar  bring  them  to  the  surface  !  Xot  alone  that 
poor  girl  found  floating  by  a  drawbridge  near 
Boston,  visited  by  two  hundred  anxious  people, 
each  searching  for  a  lost  friend.  Think  of  it ! 
Those  people  represent  two  hundred  sorrowing 
homes,  two  hundred  bleeding  hearts.  Can  it  be  ! 
Merciful  heaven  !  Can  it  be  possible  that  there 
are  two  hundred  missing  women  in  and  around 
Boston  at  one  time  ! 

As  I  strayed  through  the  streets  the  dark  cur 
tain  of  midnight  was  pierced  by  myriads  of  flash 
ing  lights.  Strains  of  bacchanalian  song,  drunken 
shouts  and  ribald  laughter  greeted  my  ear.  Here 


100  MIDNIGHT    AT   THE   HUB. 

I  passed  dwellings,  former  abodes  of  aristocracy, 
now  changed  to  haunts  of  the  vile.  There  once 
happy  homes,  now  pest-houses  of  crime. 

Follow  me  as  I  invoke  the  spirit  of  Asmodeus, 
lift  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  remove  the  walls  and 
unveil  Boston's  mysteries.  Here  we  discover  the 
secret  of  her  degeneracy.  Let  us  peer  into  the 
curtained  chamber,  tread  the  hidden  arcades 
where  pleasure  holds  high  carnival,  and  behold  the 
altars  burning  with  incense  to  the  genius  of  vice 
and  crime.  Now  is  the  hour  sacred  to  the  rites 
of  Anatis,  Bel  and  Jezebel.  Two  hundred  gam 
ing-tables  click  and  rattle,  breathing  hope  and 
despair  at  the  cast  of  the  die  or  turn  of  the  card. 
Two  thousand  liquor  saloons  blaze  on  the  check 
of  night  with  seductive  invitation. 

Here  is  a  street  of  fifty  houses  once  occupied 
by  respectable  owners,  now  leased  to  doubtful 
occupants,  all  kept  for  lodgers,  save  two ;  and 
''no  questions  asked!"  Three  fourths  of  these 
lodgers  are  females,  half  of  them  having  no 
visible  occupation.  One  hundred  women  in  one 
short  street  living  in  idleness  and  vice  !  Here 
Piper  struck  with  the  hammer  his  sleeping  victim 
before  murdering  Mabel  Young.  Here  Julia 
Ilawkes  was  met  by  Costello  and  led  out  to  be 
murdered.  Here  Jennie  Clark  met  her  seducer, 
and  was  led  to  the  foul  den  from  which  she  never 


MY  OWN   EXPLORATIONS.  10] 

returned.  Here  a  gay  bank  cashier  met  the 
actress  who  caused  his  ruin.  Through  her  he 
became  a  defaulter  to  the  sum  of  $40,000.  Here 
the  nephew  instigated  by  his  mistress  planned  the 
robbery  of  his  uncle's  safe,  obtaining  $30,000. 
Here  a  Fast  Young  Man  driven  to  desperation  by 
fear  of  discovery,  went  out  to  take  his  life  because 
he  had  embezzled  $300  from  his  employers. 

This  street  is  notorious  in  the  annals  of  crime. 
Yet  Boston  has  many  such  streets.  Here  are 
miles  on  miles  of  lodging-houses  instead  of  homes. 
Thousands  of  young  men  have  only  a  private 
room,  without  a  fire,  destitute  of  all  endearing 
charms.  With  no  fond  ties  of  affection  ;  no  wife, 
mother,  sister,  or  child  to  make  home  dear ;  no 
sweet  meal  blessed  by  love's  tender  smiles.  A 
solitary  room,  a  lunch  out,  without  a  kind  word  or 
a  friend  to  cheer,  or  a  night  in  the  street,  in  a 
saloon,  at  some  cheap  place  of  amusement  or 
more  doubtful  resort ;  then  returning  to  his  cheer 
less  chamber,  to  wait  the  coming  of  weary  morn. 

Such  is  clerk  life,  shop  life,  single  life  in  Bos 
ton.  No  wonder  people  thus  exposed  yield  to  the 
temptations  of  false  love,  fall  in  the  net,  seek 
mediums  and  questionable  affinities  to  soothe  their 
lonely  hours. 

No  city  on  the  continent  has  so  many  disreputa 
ble  Mediums,  Clairvoyants,  Wizards,  and  Fortune- 


102  MIDNIGHT   AT   THE    HUB. 

tellers  as  the  Puritan  city  of  Boston.  No  city  but 
Boston  would  allow  such  performances  as  they 
give  on  Sunday,  and  especially  Sunday  night. 
The  city  that  once  hanged  Quakers,  scourged 
Baptists,  and  drowned  witches,  now  patronizes  and 
protects  witchcraft  of  the  vilest  kind.  It  has 
more  than  two  hundred  witches  in  the  shape  of 
Spiritual  Mediums,  Mesmerists,  and  Clairvoyants. 
But  few  are  found  in  the  directory,  they  change 
their  names  so  often.  Some  answer  to  several 
names,  —  physicians,  electric  and  magnetic  heal 
ers,  dressmakers,  housekeepers,  and  managers  of 
happy  marriages.  Their  signs  are  seen  every 
where,  more  than  a  hundred  of  them  on  disreputa 
ble  houses. 

The  disinterested  wizard  and  fortune-teller  can 
fill  any  order,  supply  any  demand,  material  or 
spiritual.  Great  is  the  power  of  humbug.  The 
majority  of  mankind  seem  to  enjoy  being  hum 
bugged.  The  first  man  that  ever  started  out  in 
life  was  humbugged  —  Adam!  He  got  hum 
bugged  by  his  better  half —  the  Woman  !  He 
kinder  sorter  liked  it !  So  have  all  of  Adam's 
children  ever  since.  Humbug  has  a  certain  fasci 
nating  charm.  We  fall  easy  victims  to  its  machi 
nations. 

Are  you  out  of  health?  A  medium  will  cure 
you  for  a  dollar,  by  laying  on  of  hands  or  the  uid 


MY    OWN   EXPLORATIONS.  103 

of  the  spirits.  Just  as  you  like :  "  You  pays 
your  money,  gentlcmens,  and  you  takes  your 
choice."  Do  you  want  to  be  a  scholar  without  the 
trouble  of  studying?  She  will  show  you  a  "  royal 
road  to  knowledge  "  for  twenty-five  cents  !  What 
trouble  and  toil  we  had  to  get  our  education ! 
Now  we  can  get  it  all  complete  for  a  quarter  ! 

Do  you  want  to  learn  to  write  without  pen  or 
ink?  Send  a  dollar  by  mail.  Answer  comes 
back  :  "  Letter  and  money  received.  Question  : 
'  How  to  write  without  pen  or  ink  ? '  Answer : 
Write  with  a  lead  pencil,  you  fool  you  !  "  She  will 
tell  you  of  a  "  Hundred  Ways  to  Get  Rich."  No 
need  of  being  poor,  sick,  lonely  or  Without  a  Wife. 
Send  for  a  Book.  Only  50  cents.  .  That  will  tell 
you  all.  You  can  get  a  husband  for  a  dollar.  A 
wife  for  fifty  cents.  Goods  are  not  warranted, 
however.  They  are  not  fast  colors.  They  run! 

Now  we  come  to  North  Street.  Hark !  the 
fiddle  and  the  dance !  Hark !  the  midnight 
carousal !  Who  are  these  revellers  ?  Who  these 
tempters  "and  the  tempted  ?  Alas  !  Mostly  col 
ored  people.  Old  Ann  Street  is  no  longer 
monopolized  by  the  reckless  sailor  and  his  Dul- 
cinea.  They  have  given  place  to  freedmen  from 
the  South.  Is  it  possible  that  freedmen  have 
fallen  so  low  ?  Is  it  possible  that  they  have  taken 
possession  of  Boston's  lowest  haunts  ?  Let  us  sec. 


104  MIDNIGHT   AT    THE    HUB. 

There  where  Father  Mason  held  his  great  relig 
ious  meetings  —  the  "  Black  Sea  "  —  now  sounds 
the  roll-call  of  the  dance,  click  of  glasses,  fiddle 
and  the  jig.  An  herculean  son  of  Afric  strides 
up  and  down  the  floor,  shouting,  — 

"  Choose  partners  fo'  de  las'  set.  Las'  dance  ob 
de  night.  Five  couples  wanted.  Here  dey  come. 
Two  couple  moah  !  One  couple  moah  !  Now  dar 
de  set  all  full !  Now  den,  all  ready  !  Strike  up 
de  music  ! " 

The  floor  trembles  with  the  commotion. 
Thump !  thump !  thump !  The  caller  cries : 
"Balance  to  partners.  Ladies'  grand  chain  !  All 
promenade  !  All  hands  around  !  Right  hand  to 
partners !  Grand  right  and  left !  Swing  part 
ners  !  All  chausee !  Yaw  !  Yaw  !  Yaw  !  "  So 
much  for  the  Negro  dance.  The  scene  is  like 
pandemonium. 

In  the  midst  of  the  din  and  tumult  three  young 
white  men  came  noisily  into  the  hall,  evidently 
intoxicated.  They  were  fashionably  attired,  — 
young  "bloods"  so  called,  apparently  out  on  a 
"spree"  or  a  "lark."  A  glance  told  that  they 
belonged  to  the  upper  stratum  of  society.  The 
features  of  one  of  them  seemed  familiar  to  me. 
He  was  tall  and  good-look] ng,  but  his  face  showed 
signs  of  constant  dissipation.  I  could  not  at  the 
moment  recall  where  I  had  seen  him. 


MY    OWN    EXPLORATIONS.  105 

The  new-comers  were  immediately  assailed  by 
several  of  the  frail  creatures. 

"  Come,  ducky,  give  us  a  treat,  won't  you  ? " 
said  a  young  mulatto  girl  to  the  youth  who  had 
attracted  my  particular  attention.  She  put  her 
arm  familiarly  round  his  neck,  and  motioned 
toward  the  bar. 

"You  bet,  sis, "replied  the  other  with  a  drunken 
leer,  returning  her  caress.  "That's  just  what 
(hie)  I'm  here  for,  to  treat  (hie)  the  girls  and 
have  some  (hie)  fun.  So  all  hands  chavsee  up  to 
the  (hie)  bar.  I  '11  stand  the  shot !  Here,  bar 
keeper,  take  your  (hie)  pay  out  of  that." 

And  with  these  words  the  besotted  young  man 
threw  on  the  counter  a  ten-dollar  bill.  At  the 
same  moment  I  caught  a  closer  view  of  his  fea 
tures  and  suddenly  recognized  him.  It  was  Frank 
Gildersleeve,  —  the  only  son  of  my  Paris  acquaint 
ance  !  One  of  his  companions  was  a  dentist, 
Dr.  Richard  Forceps. 

But  enough  of  them  for  the  present.  We  shall 
meet  Frank  Gildersleeve  and  Dr.  Forceps  fre 
quently  anon  in  these  pages. 

But  to  resume  :  These  colored  people,  some  of 
them  once  slaves,  whipped  and  branded,  whose 
sufferings  had  won  the  sympathy  of  the  whole 
North,  are  here  in  these  pestiferous  haunts  throw 
ing  soul  and  body  away.  What  slavery  at  the 


306  MIDNIGHT   AT   THE    HUB. 

South  could  not  do  to  degrade  manhood,  vice  at 
the  North  is  more  than  doing.  I  said,  "  Has  it 
come  to  this,  that  men  should  so  degrade  them 
selves,  be  in  deeper  slavery  in  Boston,  with  free 
churches,  free  schools,  reading-rooms,  and  free 
libraries,  than  when  they  were  mere  chattels?  Is 
it  for  this  the  North  poured  out  her  blood  and 
treasure?  A  million  men  in  battle  fell,  their 
bones  now  bleaching  on  Southern  soil.  All  this 
for  the  negro." 

But  is  he  worthy?  We  erected  monuments 
throughout  the  North,  incurred  a  thousand  mill 
ions  of  debt,  and  millions  of  people  were  made 
to  mourn.  Has  it  come  to  this,  then,  that  freedom 
encourages  more  dissipation  than  bondage  ?  There 
is  "  something  rotten  in  Denmark  ! "  Here  untu 
tored  freedmen  fall  into  the  snare,  rot  in  filth  and 
vice,  die  early  and  lose  their  souls.  How  long,  O 
Lord,  shall  this  thing  be?  How  long  shall  men 
be  slain  by  vice  more  than  by  war  ?  How  long 
shall  Boston  be  thus  degraded  ?  Up  !  Up  !  Up  ! 
Ye  men  of  Puritan  Boston  !  Kaise  a  blast  of  in 
dignation  that  shall  purify  her  streets  ;  make  it 
too  hot  for  bad  men  to  tarry ;  lire  the  press,  the 
pulpit,  and  public  opinion ;  kindle  a  flame  that 
shall  burn  to  the  lowest  hell ;  drive  the  plague 
spot  from  her  face ;  sweep  like  a  simoom  the 
pestilence  from  our  midst;  start  the  avalanche  of 


MY   OWN   EXPLORATIONS.  107 

public  sentiment ;  hurl  the  thunderbolt  of  out 
raged  justice  ;  say  that  Boston,  enslaved  Boston, 
by  the  help  of  God,  shall  yet  throw  off  the 
shackles  of  vice,  protect  the  freedmeii,  and  her 
self  be  free ! 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

ON   THE    COMMON.  —FRANK    MEETS    MINNIE. 

IT  is  Sunday  night.  The  respectful  quiet  of 
the  day  is  somewhat  disturbed  as  the  evening 
shades  settle  down.  Crowds  of  promenaders  fill 
the  principal  avenues.  The  umbrageous  shade 
of  the  Common,  its  pleasant  walks,  inviting  seats, 
the  velvety  richness  of  the  grass,  the  cooling 
spray  of  the  fountain  in  the  Frog  Pond,  allure 
thousands  to  this  green  spot  in  the  heart  of  the 
great  city. 

Two  men  are  sauntering  along  the  Beacon 
Street  mall.  They  are  Frank  Gildersleeve  and 
his  constant  companion,  his  fidus  achates,  Dr. 
Richard  Forceps.  Both  are  dressed  in  the  height 
of  the  fashion,  but  a  distinction  between  them 
can  be  seen  at  a  glance.  Frank's  garments  exhibit 
the  good  taste  of  one  "  to  the  manner  born  "  ;  For- 
ceps's  shows  the  "loud"  and  flashy  tone  of  the 
servile  imitator  of  gentility  —  the  parvenu.  Jew 
elry  is  conspicuous  on  the  dentist's  person ;  he 
seems  to  bristle  at  every  point  with  gold  and 


FRANK    MEETS    MINNIE.  109 

sparkling  gems ;  diamond  studs  glisten  in  his 
cambric  shirt  bosom,  solitaire  rings  flash  on  either 
delicate  hand,  which  he  takes  every  opportunity 
to  display;  as,  for  instance,  when  he  raises  his 
gold  eye-glasses  to  his  eyes,  —  a  frequent  habit, 
which  he  imagines  adds  to  his  tout  ensemble,  a 
highly  distinguished  and  impressive  effect. 

Suddenly  the  dentist  pauses,  turns  partially 
toward  two  young  girls  who  are  passing,  and  with 
a  grace  which  Beau  Nash  might  have  envied, 
raises  his  glossy  hat. 

"  By  Jove  !  What  a  pretty  girl !  "  exclaimed 
Frank  Grildersleeve  as  they  resume  their  walk. 
"Who  is  she,  Dick?  How  did  you  get  ac 
quainted  ?  Where  does  she  li ve  ?  " 

"  Too  many  questions  to  answer  in  a  breath, 
my  dear  fellow,"  responds  the  other.  "  Why  are 
you.  so  intensely  interested  about  a  woman  you 
never  saw  before?  You  did  not  notice  her  dress, 
nor  her  cheap  hat,  nor  her  frayed  gloves,  I  '11 
bet !  " 

"  I  only  noticed  that  she  had  the  loveliest  face 
and  the  most  graceful  figure  that  I  ever  beheld  !  " 
said  Frank,  enthusiastically. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Forceps.     "  Well,  you 
are  a  good  judge,  Frank.     But  she  's  only  a  poor 
girl  ;  not  your  sort,  at  all,  my  boy.     Who  is  she,' 
you  ask?     I  can't  tell  you  exactly.     All  I  know 


110  ON    THE    COMMON. 

is  that  she  is  a  customer  of  mine.  She  came  in  to 
the  office  with  that  same  girl  who  was  with  her 
now,  to  have  me  look  at  a  tooth  that  Avants  tilling. 
She's  from  out  of  town,  somewhere,  I  think. 
She  made  an  appointment  to  call  at  the  office 
again  to-morroAV.  And  that's  all  the  information 
I  can  give  you." 

"  She  is  coming  to  you  to-morrow,  then?  "  said 
Frank.  "I  say,  Dick,  I'm  coming  too!  I'd  go 
ten  miles  to  see  such  a  fresh,  innocent-looking  face 
as  that." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  You're  really  smitten,  Frank. 
A  case  of  love  at  first  sight,  I  declare." 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  younger  man,  his  face 
flushing.  "  Can't  a  man  admire  a  pretty  face 
without  falling  in  love  with  its  owner?  But  if  I 
come,  you  '11  introduce  me,  won't  you,  Dick?" 

*'  Oh  !  of  course  !  of  course  !  since  you  're  set  on 
it.  However,  I  advise  you,  remember,  to  give 
up  the  notion,  and  not  bother  about  pretty  girls 
who  have  to  work  for  a  living.  Good  gracious  ! 
What  would  your  father  say,  or  your  proud  and 
fashionable  mamma,  if  they  heard  their  only  son 
had  got  into  an  entanglement  with  a  poor  working 
girl!  But  there  —  I  was  only  joking;  don't  get 
wrathy,  my  boy !  *'  he  hastily  added,  as  he  'saw 
that  he  had  gone  too  far,  and  that  his  companion's 
face  wore  a  displeased  look. 


FRANK    MEETS    MINNIE.  Ill 

The  two  soon  after  left  the  Common  and  took 
their  way  arm-in-arm  down  Boylston  Street  to 
Washington. 

O 

"  Well  met,  Frank !  "  exclaimed  one  of  three 
young  men,  who  were  approaching  toward  them  ; 
and  immediately  all  five  were  exchanging  saluta 
tions.  The  new-comers  were  friends  and  intimates 
of  Frank  Gildersleeve,  who  quickly  introduced 
them  to  his  companion. 

"  Will  you  and  your  friend  join  us  ?  "  said  the 
one  who  had  first  spoken,  and  whose  name  was 
Harry  Waters.  He  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy 
wholesale  merchant,  and  a  clerk  in  his  father's 
office,  but  much  more  given  to  spend  his  time  on 
his  pleasures  than  in  the  duties  of  the  counting- 
room. 

"  Which  way  are  you  bound?  "  asked  Frank. 

ff  First  to  get  a  drink,  and  after  that  to  see  the 
sights,  and  so  forth,"  said  Waters,  with  a  knowing 
wink. 

"A  drink,  Sunday  night,  and  in  Boston!" 
exclaimed  Forceps,  in  affected  surprise.  "It  can't 
be  possible  !  I  thought  Bostonians  had  to  go  dry 
one  day  in  the  week,  certainly." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  All  hands  joined  in  the  merri- 
riment  excited  by  Forceps 's  remark. 

"  Come  along,  doctor,"  said  Waters,  "  and 
we  11  prove  what  a  mistaken  notion  you  Ve  got  of 
Boston.  We  '11  show  you  r  the  ropes.' " 


112  ON   THE    COMMON. 

In  reality  Dick  Forceps  could  have  shown  them 
all  what  Harry  Waters  called  "the  ropes,"  and 
many  things  besides  in  the  dark  and  crooked  ways 
of  city  life.  There  were  few  haunts  of  dissipa 
tion  in  Boston  that  he  was  not  "  posted  "  on  ;  but 
he  said  nothing,  and  followed  the  rest  to  a  fash 
ionable  saloon  near  by. 

Within  the  bar-room  —  access  to  which  was 
gained  by  a  back  door  —  a  large  company  was 
assembled,  smoking  and  drinking,  while  some 
were  playing  cards  "  for  the  drinks."  It  was  no 
vulgar  crowd ;  no  "  horny-handed  sons  of  toil " 
were  to  be  seen  ;  only  men  whose  genteel  exterior 
showed  that  they  belonged  to  the  higher  social 
circles.  There  was  no  turbulence,  no  drunken 
tumult ;  the  men  drank  and  smoked,  and  laughed 
and  jested,  after  the  manner  of  "good  society." 
But  how  many  of  those  young  men  will  date  their 
utter  ruin  from  that  fashionable  Sunday  drinking- 
place  ! 

This  scene  is  repeated  here  every  Sabbath,  day 
and  night.  All  over  the  city  are  similar  resorts 
for  Sunday  drinking.  Yet  it  is  gravely  asserted 
that  Boston  has  no  open  bars  on  Sunday ;  that 
the  police  authorities  rigidly  enforce  the  Sunday 
law. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  name  your  poison,"  said 
Harry  Waters,  as  the  party  stood  at  the  bar. 


FRANK   MEETS    MINNIE.  113 

"Whiskey  straight  for  me,"  said  one. 

"And  mine  's  a  sherry  cobbler,"  said  Frank. 

"  Ditto  for  me." 

"And  what  is  yours,  sir?"  asked  the  urbane 
barkeeper  of  Dr.  Forceps. 

"  A  lemonade,"  said  the  latter. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  young  men. 

"Wait  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  said  Forceps. 
"You  didn't  permit  me  to  finish.  A  lemonade, 
barkeeper,  but  with  a  stick  in  it,  if  you  please." 

At  the  same  time  Forceps  made  an  impercepti 
ble  sign  to  the  barkeeper  which  the  latter  under 
stood.  The  dentist  was  an  old  acquaintance, 
though  pretending  not  to  recognize  him.  When 
the  lemonade  was  forthcoming  there  was  not 
"  stick  "  enough  in  it  to  hurt  a  fly. 

Dick  Forceps  knew  that  he  would  have  to  drink 
many  times  before  his  companions  left  the  saloon. 
Each,  according  to  the  etiquette  of  such  meetings, 
would  treat  in  turn,  and  the  dentist  had  no  notion 
of  letting  liquor  get  the  best  of  him. 

"  When  the  wine  is  in  the  wit  is  out,"  says  the 
proverb ;  and  Forceps  was  too  wary  a  scoundrel , 
he  had  too  many  dark  secrets  in  his  plotting  brain, 
to  run  any  such  hazard. 

At  this  moment  Jonathan  Jerks  entered.  He 
was  on  his  tour  of  inspection  into  Boston's  dark 
ways. 

8 


114  ON   THE    COMMON. 

"  Wai,  I  SAVOW  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  twitch  of 
the  eyes  and  u  jerk  of  the  head.  "  Gosh  !  If  I 
thought  I'd  see  you  in  this  here  den,  Frank; 
mighty  poor  place,  I  swanny." 

"Hullo,  old  fel,"  exclaimed  Frank,  cordially 
greeting  Jonathan  and  winking  to  his  companions. 
"Why,  Jerks,  ain't  this  a  kinder  tough  place  for 
you  to  be  in,  eh?  Hurt  your  character,  won't 
it?" 

"Wai,  guess  I  can  stand  it,  ef  the  place  can," 
returned  Jerks.  "  Perticularly  as  I  don't  take' 
nothin'.  I  swan !  what  a  plaguy  sight  of  liquor 
I  've  seen  sold  to-day.  By  hokey !  Ef  I  don't 
believe  Sunday  is  almost  a  holiday  in  Boston. 
Why,  I  've  been  up  to  a  rum-shop,  right  by  the 
Cathedral.  Wai,  sir,  I  'm  blest  ef  they  didn't 
come  right  out  from  mass  an'  steer  straight  for 
that  liquor  shop.  Gosh  !  Why,  I  counted  26  go 
up  to  the  bar  an'  drink  in  twenty  minutes.  Wai, 
then  I  went  up  to  a  place  right  near  St.  James' 
Church  on  Harrison  Avenue.  Why,  sir,  they 
came  in  through  a  side  door,  after  twelve  o'clock 
service,  jes'  about  as  thick  as  fleas,  an'  got  their 
'bitters.'  Counted  55  myself  in  less  than  an 
hour." 

''  Ila,  ha  !  ''  laughed  Waters.  "  You  might  stick 
in  us  five,  and  make  an  even  GO,  eh?  " 

"  Hullo,  Jerks,  so  you're  seeing  the  elephant, 
eh?  "said  Frank. 


FRANK   MEETS   MINNIE.  115 

"  Yes,  sirree,"  returned  Jonathan  with  emphasis. 
"  I  'm  looking  right  into  the  bottom  of  the  hub, 
you  can  bet." 

"  Well,  come  on,  boys,"  said  Harry  Waters, 
interrupting.  "  Let 's  move  on  !  'T  won't  do  to 
stagnate,  you  know.  Sunday  only  comes  once  a 
week." 

And  following  him  the  rest  of  the  party  left  the 
place. 

"  By  gracious  !  "  said  Jonathan,  looking  after 
them.  "  And  this  is  what  they  call  the  Lord- 
lovin'  and  law-abidin'  city  of  Boston  !  Wai,  it 's 
enough  to  make  a  graven  image  weep  ter  see  such 
goin's-on  !  Where  's  the  Sunday  laws?  Where  's 
the  police,  I  'd  like  to  know?  I  swow  !  ef  Sunday 
liquor  sellin'  ain't  one  of  the  biggest  evils  I  've 
struck  yet  in  Boston." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FRANK     IN     THE     DENTIST'S    OFFICE.  —  MINNIE    TELLS 
HER   HISTORY. 

"So  yon  are  on  hand,  Frank,  in  spite  of  late 
hours?"  said  Dick  Forceps,  as  Frank  Gilderslceve 
came  into  the  dentist's  office  at  an  early  hour  the 
following  morning.  The  young  man  had  a  some 
what  jaded  look  about  the  eyes.  He  was  young 
in  dissipation  as  yet,  and  its  effects,  together  with 
the  loss  of  sleep ,  left  visible  marks  upon  his  fresh 
and  handsome  countenance.  Forceps's  face,  how 
ever,  told  no  tales.  His  potations  were  never 
deep.  His  cold  and  calculating  nature  prevented 
him  from  abandoning  himself  to  the  wild  and 
reckless  excesses  of  ardent  youth.  He  was  a  sort 
of  moral  monster,  who  took  a  species  of  delight 
in  encouraging  the  vices  of  others,  while  skilfully 
drawing  his  own  profit  from  their  weaknesses. 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  been  drawn  through 
a  knot-hole,  my  dear  boy,"  continued  the  dentist. 
"This  will  never  do,  old  fellow.  Here,  come  into 
the  operating-room,  and  bathe  your  red  eyes  with 
bay  rum.  Ah!  That's  better.  Now,  take  a 


MINNIE    TELLS    HER    HISTORY.  117 

moderate  swig  of  this  cocktail,  and  you'll  be  in 
decent  trim  to  meet  the  fair  Minnie  when  she 
arrives." 

AVhile  speaking,  Forceps  had  taken  a  bottle 
labelled  "  cocktail "  from  a  cupboard,  and  turning 
a  portion  of  its  contents  into  a  tumbler,  passed 
the  latter  to  the  young  man. 

rf  You  're  right,  Dick,"  said  Frank,  after  tossing 
off  the  liquor.  "  I  feel  like  a  new  man  already. 
And  now,  what  hour  is  the  young  beauty  to  be 
here?  For,  do  you  know,  you  didn't  think  to 
tell  me  the  time  appointed,  and  that 's  why  I  came 
down  so  early." 

"  It  was  arranged  that  she  should  come  at 
eleven  o'clock.  It  is  now  ten,  so  you  will  have  a 
whole  hour  in  which  to  curb  your  impatience. 
Sit  down  there  in  the  reception-room  and  look  at 
the  papers.  I  've  got  some  work  to  do." 

"Look  here,  Dick,''  said  Frank  Giklersleeve 
suddenly.  "  I  "ve  got  an  idea  !" 

'"  The  deuce  you  have ! "  said  the  dentist, 
humorously.  "That's  more  than  many  a  rich 
young  noodle  can  say,"  he  added  to  himself. 
Then  aloud:  "Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  Supposing  you  introduce  me  to  the  lovely 
Minnie  as  your  partner?  That  would  make  the 
matter  more  natural,  you  see.  I  wouldn't  have 
suspect  who  I  really  am  —  a  rich,  idle  young 


118  FRANK    IN    THE   DENTIST'S    OFFICE. 

fellow,  you  know  —  for  anything.  She'd  think 
I  was  a  hawk  right  away,  and  the  frightened  little 
dove  would  take  to  her  wings  at  once." 

"  Then  you  seriously  intend  to  make  love  to  the 
girl?"  asked  Forceps,  curiously. 

"I  don't  intend  anything  of  the  kind,"  rejoined 
Frank,  hastily.  "But  what  if  I  did?  I  shouldn't 
be  the  first  rich  man's  son  that  had  fallen  in  love 
with  a  poor  girl,  ay  !  and  married  her,  too,  for 
that  matter !  " 

"Marry  her!  "  exclaimed  Dick  Forceps,  laying 
down  the  tools  he  was  using  and  starting  to  his 
feet  in  surprise.  "You  don't  mean  to  say  you're 
such  a  romantic  ninny  as  to  think  of  such  a  thing 
as  marriage  !  Reflect  n  moment,  my  dear  fellow  ; 
you  never  saw  the  girl  till  yesterday,  and  then 
only  for  half  a  minute." 

"You  take  it  too  seriously,  Dick,"  answered 
the  young  fellow,  with  a  laugh.  "This  is  counting 
the  chickens  before  they  arc  hatched.  I  have  no 
intention  even  of  falling  in  love  with  Minnie 
Marston.  She's  a  marvellously  pretty  girl ;  she 
looks  good  and  innocent ;  and  I  have  taken  a 
fancy  that  I  would  like  to  become  acquainted 
with  her.  Now,  will  you  do  what  I  asked  ?  " 

"Introduce  you  as  my  partner,  eh?  Well,  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to,  if  you  insist  on  it." 

:t  You  won't  regret  humoring  my  whims,  Dick. 


MINNIE    TELLS    HER    HISTORY .  119 

You  know  I  'in  no  niggard,  and  can  afford  to  pay 
for  all  my  fun." 

"  Oh  !  Don't  speak  of  pay  between  friends,  my 
boy,"  said  Forceps,  in  an  injured  tone.  "You 
know  I  would  do  anything  for  you  for  mere 
friendship's  sake." 

"Of  course  you  would,  Dick.  Don't  I  know 
what  an  easy,  good-hearted  fellow  you  are  ?  But 
come  !  Give  me  a  few  lessons  right  off.  Set  me 
about  something,  so  when  she  comes  she  can  see 
I  'm  hard  at  work." 

And  the  young  man,  as  pleased  with  the  notion 
as  a  child  with  a  new  toy,  threw  off  his  coat,  and 
seated  himself  at  the  bench,  while  Forceps  laugh 
ingly  proceeded  to  initiate  him  into  some  of  the 
mysteries  of  his  craft. 

It  was  while  thus  engaged  that  Minnie  Marston 
entered  the  office.  The  introduction  took  place 
as  prearranged.  The  young  girl's  modest  de 
meanor  and  her  sweet,  charming  face  completely 
captivated  Frank  Gildersleeve's  fancy. 

"You  are  a  stranger  in  Boston,  I  believe,  Miss 
Marston?"  inquired  Frank 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  have  been  here  but  a  few  weeks." 

"You  are  from  Maine,  I  should  judge  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,  sir,  though  not  far  from  it.  My 
home  is  in  New  Hampshire,  close  by  the  White 
Mountains." 


120  FRANK   IN   THE    DENTIST'S    OFFICE. 

"  Ah,  indeed.  I  have  always  had  a  great  desire 
to  visit  that  wonderful  region.  If  it  would  not 
be  impertinent,  may  I  ask  what  induced  you  to 
leave  such  a  charming  rural  home  for  the  great 
city?" 

Minnie  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  when  she 
spoke  again  there  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"To  answer  that,  sir,  I  must  tell  you  something 
of  my  home  and  my  parents.  We  are  poor  people, 
sir,  though  father  owns  a  small  farm  under  the 
shadow  of  one  of  the  granite  hills.  Father  was  a 
minister,  sir,  but  he  has  been  unable  to  preach 
regularly.  His  severe  lameness  disables  him  from 
much  labor.  I  could  do  little  at  home  to  help 
my  dear  mother  and  father — nothing  at  least  by 
which  I  could  earn  anything  to  add  to  our  frugal 
housekeeping,  and  so  —  and  so  I  at  last  obtained 
father's  consent  to  answer  an  advertisement  in  one 
of  the  Boston  papers." 

"  Then  you  see  the  Boston  papers  even  way  up 
in  New  Hampshire  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed.  Tourists  frequently  stop  in 
our  vicinity,  for  the  location  is  a  very  romantic 
and  picturesque  one.  Oh  !  sir,  I  wish  you  could 
see  my  home.  But  please  excuse  me.  I  forgot 
I  was  speaking  to  a  stranger  who  could  not  be 
interested  in  the  subject." 

There  was  an  unconscious  but  very  subtle  flat- 


MINNIE    TELLS    II KK    HIsTOKY.  121 

tery  implied  in  these  words,  and  they  touched  the 
young  man's  self-love  quite  pleasantly.  Already 
this  lovely  but  unsophisticated  girl  had  forgotten 
that  he  was  a  stranger  !  The  seeds  of  a  lifelong 
affection  were  insensibly  germinating  even  then. 

"  Interested  !  "  Frank  exclaimed.  ff  Oh,  indeed, 
you  have  strongly  awakened  my  interest  in  your 
beautiful  home.  Pray  tell  me  about  it." 

Minnie  thus  urged  described  in  simple  but  elo 
quent  language  the  charming  region  in  which  she 
had  been  nurtured.  Mountains  upon  mountains 
were  the  familiar  objects  of  her  childish  admira 
tion,  and  nestled  in  one  of  the  numerous  little 
valleys  she  pictured  the  moderate  farm  of  a  few 
acres  which  her  father  owned.  She  spoke  of  the 
beautiful  summer  skies,  of  the  birds  and  flowers 
and  rivers  and  the  leaping  cascades,  of  the  grandeur 
of  the  winters,  with  their  absence  of  all  life,  and 
frightful  avalanches,  etc.,  and  Frank  found  him 
self  sharing  her  enthusiasm  and  half  inclined  to 
start  forthwith  on  a  pilgrimage  to  this  rural 
shrine. 

"  But  we  have  drifted  far  away  from  the  subject 
we  were  speaking  about,  Mr.  Gildersleeve,'' 
Minnie  said  suddenly,  and  with  a  blush.  "I  can 
never  speak  of  my  home  but  I  go  into  rapture 
over  its  beautiful  scenery." 

"  Some  people  say  that  familiarity  with  scenery 


122     FRANK  IN  THE  DENTIST'S  OFFICE. 

breeds  contempt  for  it.  With  you  I  see  it  is  fui 
different.  But  you  were  speaking  about  answer* 
ing  an  advertisement.  I  conclude  that  you  re-, 
ceived  a  favorable  reply  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  secured  a  situation  in  a  store  in  Boston. 
Goodsenough  &  Company  advertised  for  sales-, 
women,  and  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  selected 
as  one.  So,  Mr.  Gildersleeve,  you  are  talking, 
you  see,  to  only  a  humble  shop-girl." 

"And  I  am  but  a  poor  dentist,  Miss  Minnie," 
he  rejoined,  blushing  in  spite  of  himself  at  the 
falsehood.  "  So  in  our  social  relation  you  and  I 
are  on  the  same  level,  you  see,  and  I  hope, — I 
sincerely  hope, — that  after  a  little  longer  ac 
quaintance  you  will  allow  me  to  enroll  myself 
among*  the  number  of  your  friends." 

Minnie,  in  her  ignorance  of  conventional  cus 
toms,  and  in  her  innocent  trust  in  all  that  was 
outwardly  fair  and  true,  did  not  hesitate  to  let  the 
young  fellow  see  that  she  already  regarded  him  in 
a  very  friendly  light. 

Forceps  now  came  out  of  the  operating-room, 
and  interrupted  their  pleasant  tcte-a-tete  for  the 
time,  announcing  that  he  was  now  ready  to  attend 
to  Minnie. 

When  the  young  girl  left  the  dentist's  office 
Frank  happened  to  be  going  out  at  the  same  time, 
and  thus  it  happened  that  he  accompanied  her  to 


MINNIE    TELLS    HER    HISTORY.  123 

the  house  where  she  boarded  in  common  with  sev 
eral  of  her  fellow  shopmates.  And  it  Avas  not  the 
only  time  Frank  found  himself  accompanying  the 
young  girl  thither.  The  intimacy  thus  so  pleas 
antly  begun  ripened  gradually  to  a  strong  friend 
ship,  and  eventually  into  a  deeper  sentiment  on 
the  part  of  both. 

Alas  !  for  the  young  girl's  innocent  trust  in  a 
stranger's  honeyed  words  and  flattering  smiles  ! 


CHAPTEE   IX. 

MINNIE   AT   THE  THEATKE.  —  JERKS  ON  BOSTON'S  FUN. 

ONE  day  Frank  Gildersleeve  invited  Minnie 
Marston  to  go  to  the  theatre.  At  the  appointed 
time  she  was  ready  awaiting  her  lover,  dressed  in 
her  best.  Frank  told  her  that  he  had  never  seen 
her  looking  so  pretty,  praised  her  neat  attire,  and 
uttered  many  soft  flatteries  that  went  to  the  very 
heart  of  the  innocent  girl. 

And  those  lover-like  speeches  were  sincerely 
uttered.  The  young  man  at  that  moment  loved 
his  charming  companion  purely  and  honestly. 

The  theatre  was  crowded.  The  lights  and 
music,  the  brilliant  dresses  of  the  ladies,  the 
fairy-like  scene  revealed  at  the  going  up  of  the 
curtain,  fairly  intoxicated  the  senses  of  the  young 
girl. 

The  play  was  one  of  those  which  the  era  of  the 
"  Black  Crook  "  introduced  to  the  stage,  —  a  play 
splendid  in  its  "  setting,"  but  in  its  characters, 
action,  and  plot  appealing  to  the  senses  rather 
than  to  the  intellect.  As  the  curtain  went  up  the 
stage  exhibited  a  blaze  of  splendor.  All  that  art 


JERKS    ON    BOSTON'S    FUN.  125 

could  do  was  lavished  in  the  decoration  of  the 
scene.  A  beautiful  garden  was  presented ;  the 
trees  bending  with  luscious  fruit.  Flowers 
bloomed  everywhere  in  picturesque  profusion. 
The  music  of  falling  water  added  to  the  reality 
of  the  scene.  It  was  a  picture  of  fairy-land,  and 
to  the  entranced  senses  of  the  young  girl  seemed 
as  if  birds  must  be  hopping  among  the  branches. 
She  really  fancied  she  could  scent  the  odor  of  the 
flowers,  and  hear  the  wind  softly  rustling  amid 
the  foliage. 

The  play  commenced.  Two  figures  came  out 
upon  the  stage,  —  a  young  man  and  woman,  ser 
vants  of  the  lovely  princess,  the  heroine  of  the 
play.  They  went  through  a  pert  dialogue  which 
had  for  its  object  the  introduction  of  their  mistress 
on  the  scene.  Then  came  a  burst  of  music,  a 
hush  of  expectation  on  the  part  of  the  audience, 
o,nd  the  princess,  attended  by  a  numerous  train  of 
female  attendants,  entered,  almost  as  devoid  of 
apparel  as  the  first  inhabitants  of  Eden.  A  storm 
of  applause  greeted  them.  But  a  blush  mounted 
to  Minnie's  cheek.  The  actions,  the  postures,  the 
fantastic  pirouetting,  the  suggestive,  even  wanton 
gestures,  shocked  and  horrified  the  delicate  mind 
of  the  young  girl.  For  a  single  instant  she  gazed 
in  silent  wonder  on  the  scene,  and  then  quickly 
averted  her  burning  face. 


126  MINNIE    AT    THE    THEATRE. 

At  last  she  timidly  raised  her  eyes  to  Frank 
Gildersleeve's  face;  but  his  gaze  was  intently 
fixed  on  the  stage.  Then  she  looked  shyly  round 
;-:t  the  audience.  She  saw  old  men  with  their 
wives  and  daughters,  young  men  and  tender 
maidens,  and  all  looking  with  interested  eyes, 
like  her  lover,  on  the  dazzling  scene  before  them. 
She  saw  no  modest  shrinking  there.  But  Minnie 
was  sick  at  heart,  notwithstanding.  She  gently 
touched  her  companion's  arm. 

"  Please  take  me  home,  Frank,"  she  whispered. 
"I  —  I  do  not  feel  very  TJjell.  Pray  take  mo 
home  !  " 

"  Impossible,  Minnie,"  he  said,  looking  at  her 
with  an  amused  smile.  Her  flushed  and  downcast 
face  told  him  at  once  the  cause  of  her  distress. 
"You  are  merely  dazzled  and  bewildered  at  the 
novelty  of  the  thing.  Look  round  you,  my  do-ar. 
Wlien  you  're  in  Rome  you  must  do  as  the  Roman;* 
do,  you  know.  You  will  soon  get  accustomed  to 
this  sort  of  thing." 

"  Oh  !  no  !  no  !  I  cannot  remain  here  longer, 
Frank,"  she  whispered.  "  Please  —  please  let  us 
go!" 

"But  think  a  moment,  Minnie,"  he  replied. 
"If  we  go  out  now,  we  shall  draw  the  atten 
tion  of  all  these  people,  besides  disturbing  th^ 
play.  It  would  be  ridiculous.  There,  my  dear  1 


JERKS    ON   BOSTON'S   FUN.  127 

Do    not   mind   it.     You    will   be    all   right    in    a 
minute." 

Minnie  felt  the  truth  of  what  he  had  said.  To 
go  out  just  at  the  opening  of  the  play  in  the  face 
of  that  crowded  assemblage  would  be,  now  she 
reflected  on  it,  like  running  a  gauntlet.  No,  she 
would  stay,  but  she  could  not,  would  not  again 
look  on  the  stage.  So  she  told  herself;  and  so 
many  a  young  girl  whose  sense  of  modesty  and 
propriety  has  been  grievously  shocked  by  her  first 
sight  at  the  improprieties,  not  to  say  indecencies, 
of  the  "  play  of  the  period,"  has  likewise  felt. 
But  Minnie  could  not  keep  her  resolution.  She 
was  attracted  to  the  brilliant  scene  in  spite  of  her 
self.  And  when  the  lovely  heroine  of  the  piece 
came  forward  and  sang  a  simple  song,  but  in  a 
voice  whose  trained  powers  entranced  every  ear 
and  thrilled  every  heart,  Minnie  yielded  to  the 
spell,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  gave  her 
rapt  attention  to  the  progress  of  the  story. 

Thus  the  pure,  the  beautiful,  the  innocent  Min 
nie  Marston,  far  from  the  protection  of  her  coun 
try  home,  bereft  of  the  influence  of  parents, 
church,  and  friends,  took  her  first  lesson  in  the 
wiles  of  city  life,  (Took  her  first  steps  on  the 
pleasant  pathway  of  temptation. 

Will  she  awake  to  her  peril?  Or  will  her 
unwary  feet  be  tangled  in  those  snares  ever  set 


128  MINNIE    AT    THE    THEATRE. 

for  the  unsuspecting?  Snares  that  lure  to  the 
dark  waters  of  sensuality,  at  last  to  overwhelm  in 
sin,  sorrosv,  and  despair. 

Frank,  after  parting  with  Minnie  at  her  board 
ing-house,  met  Jonathan  Jerks  strolling  down  the 
street. 

"Hullo  !  Frank  ;  why,  is  that  you?  "  exclaimed 
Jonathan,  almost  crushing  Frank's  hand  in  his 
friendly  grasp.  "  Wai,  how  de  du?  Where  Ve 
you  been?  Why,  I  swow  !  hain't  seen  you  since 
last  time  !  " 

"Oh  !  I  Ve  just  come  from  the  theatre,"  said 
Frank.  '"  Saw  the  *  Black  Demon  ;  or,  The  Ser 
pent's  Doom.'  'T  was  first  rate,  too." 

"  Wai !  wal !  these  'ere  theatres  are  mighty 
mean  places,"  said  Jerks  emphatically,  as  if  about 
to  turn  his  crank  of  reform  on  Boston's  amuse 
ments.  "  I  raally  believe,  now,  they  do  more  'n 
most  anythin'  else  ter  git  a  feller  started  on  the 
down'ard  road.  Yes,  by  ho  key !  an'  a  girl,  too, 
for  that  matter.  An'  then  jes'  look  at  the  shows 
they  put  on  !  Why,  great  Jehosophat  !  they  're  a 
disgrace  ter  the  country,  I  swow !  Why,  the 
drama  nowadays  is  half  naked  women,  an'  t'  other 
half  silly  nonsense.  Gosh  !  it 's  too  all-fired,  tarna 
tion  bad  !  They  oughter  shut  'em  up  smack.  Folks 
would  get  some  sense  then,  an'  go  ter  meetin's  an' 
lecters,  an'  where  they'd  learn  somethin'.  Yes, 


JKRKS    ON    BOSTON'S    FUN.  1  29 

sir,  they  oughter  bo  shut  up  short,  them  's  my 
opinions  right  down  flat." 

"  Oh  !  I  guess  the  theatres  won't  hurt  me,"  said 
Frank,  in  a  bantering  tone.  "They  help  kill 
time,  you  know." 

"Wai,  I  guess  they  du,"  said  Jonathan,  jerking 
his  head  in  assent.  "  But  I  tell  you  it 's  a  plaguy 
poor  way  tcr  kill  time.  We  hain't  got  none  too 
much  time  in  this  'ere  world,  an'  wastin'  it  in 
them  theatres  is  all  humbug.  Yes,  an'  then  look 
at  the  cost  of  it,  too.  Why,  I  swan  !  ef  Boston 
don't  pay  out  a  pile  for  sport  an'  fun.  Jes'  look  ! 
there  's  ten  reg'lar  theatres,  all  a-runnin'  full  blast, 
an'  about  twenty  irreg'lar  theatres  in  the  shape  of 
spiritooal  seances.  You  can  go  ter  the  reg'lar 
theatres  on  wreek  days,  an'  ter  the  spiritooal  thea 
tres  on  Sunday." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Frank,  good-humoredly. 
"  That 's  a  big  convenience  to  city  folks,  eh  ?  " 

"  Wai,  it 's  a  tarnation  shame,  I  swan  ef  't  aint !  " 
exclaimed  Jonathan,  nodding  his  head,  and  twitch 
ing  his  eyes  in  his  indignation.  "  Why,  a'most 
the  hul  of  Boston  is  a-runnin'  arter  amusement, 
—  theatres,  horse-racin',  boat-racin%  wrestling 
matches,  cat  shows,  an'  dog  shows.  Why,  great 
hokey  !  Boston  folks  seem  ter  be  half  crazy  on 
amusements.  Why,  the  pesky  papers  don't  seem 
tcr  have  anythin3  else  scarcely,  'cept  sports  an' 
9 


L'JO  MINNIE    AT    THE    THEATKE. 

theatricals.  They  give  a  couple  o'  columns  to  an 
interview  with  a  pedestrian,  an'  about  six  lines 
ter  notice  a  sermon.  Gosh  all  hemlock  !  Don't 
wonder  there  's  so  many  fellers  a  loafin'  round  an' 
hangin'  on  their  aunts  for  a  livin'." 

rt You're  right,  Jerks,"  said  Frank.  "Fellow 
can't  afford  to  patronize  theatre  and  shows  unless 
he  's  got  money." 

"  Xo,  sirrec  !  Not  much,"  returned  Jerks.  "  I 
believe  in  work  —  good,  solid  work.  But  great 
Joshua  Pease  !  ef  there  ain't  a  big  caboodle  of 
young  sprigs  a-wastin'  their  time  on  amusements, 
an'  spongin'  their  bread  an'  cake  outer  their  folks. 
They  ought  ter  be  made  ter  work.  Put  a  hoe  in 
their  paws,  an'  say,  e  Now  scratch  for  yourself,  an' 
earn  your  own  grub.'  Why,  there  was  one  feller 
I  knew.  Minister's  son,  too.  Used  ter  spend  all 
his  time  ter  these  tarnation  old  shows  an'  thea 
tres.  Would  spend  his  last  quarter  ter  go  ter 
the  theatre,  ef  he  had  ter  sleep  in  the  station- 
house.  Sure  ter  have  a  cigar,  even  ef  he  went 
without  his  breakfast  ter  git  it.  Gosh  !  wa'  n't 
he  an  all-fired  fool !  " 

And  Jonathan  twisted  himself  about  and  oddly 
showed  his  intense  disgust. 

O 

"Yes,  sir,  I  tell  you  what!  The  Legislature 
oughter  pass  a  law  ag'in  sech  pesky  critters. 
Oughter  say  no  man  shall  spend  his  time  a-loaf- 


JERKS   ON   BOSTON'S  3FON.  131 

in'  'round  theatres  an'  shows  while  spongin'  his 
bread  an'  board.  No,  sir !  I  tell  you  no  man 
should  play  tramp  who  is  too  all-fired  honest 
ter  work,  an'  too  lazy  ter  steal !  An'  no  man 
ought er  smoke  more  'n  ten  cigars  a  day,  either, 
who  is  a-Iivin'  on  his  aunt.  They  're  followin'  up 
the  Scripter  rayther  too  clus  — '  Go  to  the  ANT,  thou 
sluggard.'  But  I  rayther  reckon  they  go  ter  the 
wrong  ant.  They  spell  it  a-u-n-t.  T'  other  kind 
would  kick  'em  out  in  no  time.  They  are  too 
tarnation  smart  ter  stand  any  loafin'  'round  them, 
I  can  tell  you  !  " 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Frank.  "You're  right, 
Jerks.  They're  too  cute  for  that.  Well,  good 
night.  Hope  you  '11  turn  the  crank  on  the  Hub, 
and  make  things  fly  lively." 

"Wai,  guess  I'll  do  it,  or  bust!"  said  Jona 
than  solemnly. 

And  Frank,  after  shaking  Jerks  cordially  by 
the  hand,  wended  his  way  to  his  home  on  Beacon 
Hill. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

FRANK  AND  FORCEPS  AT  FARO  BANK.  —  JERKS 
"TURNING  THE  CRANK." 

ONE  evening  Dr.  Forceps  sat  in  his  office  when 
Frank  Gildersleeve  came  in. 

"Hallo,  Dick!"  said  the  young  man,  "what's 
up  to-night  ?  Are  n't  you  stopping  rather  late  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  I  would  do  a  little  work  this 
evening,  but  I  don't  feel  much  like  it.  Sit  down 
and  help  yourself  to  a  cigar.  And  how  goes  your 
suit  with  the  fair  Minnie  ?  " 

Frank  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two.  At  last 
he  said ,  — 

"Dick,  Minnie  Marston  is  one  girl  out  of  a 
thousand.  By  Jove  !  If  she  only  belonged  to 
upper  tendom  !  If  she  only  moved  in  our  society  ! " 

"Perhaps  if  she  did  she  would  not  be  such  a 
paragon  as  you  make  her  out  to  be,"  answered 
Forceps. 

"  Look  out,  Dick.  That 's  a  slur  on  me  and  mine. 
But  I  don't  believe  it.  Minnie  would  grace  any 
station.  And  in  any  station  I  believe  she  would 
still  be  the  same  noble,  high-minded,  and  virtuous 


JERKS  "TURNING  THE  CRANK."  133 

girl.  She  is  a  treasure  of  innocence,  purity,  and 
good-principle.  We  are  scoundrels,  Dick  For 
ceps,  to  be  concocting  these  schemes  for  under 
mining  her  virtue." 

"Pshaw,  my  boy  !  Every  one  has  a  price.  If 
you  fail  in  all  other  means,  a  little  judicious  flat 
tery  will  bring  her  to  your  feet." 

"  Then  Minnie  Marston  is.  an  exception  to  the 
rule.  I  tell  you  she  is  incorruptible." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  Forceps,  knocking 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar.  "Every  woman  has 
vanity,  and  she  is  no  exception  to  the  rest  of  the 
sex.  But  a  new  idea  occurs  to  me,  Frank." 

"Well,  let  us  hear  it." 

w  You  must  take  Minnie  to  a  fortune-teller,  —  a 
clairvoyant.  I  know  one  that  for  a  few  dollars 
will  fall  into  our  views  and  cook  up  a  nice  little 
dish  for  our  young  friend  from  the  rural  districts. 
By  Jove  !  It 's  the  best  thing  yet !  " 

"  I  am  willing  to  try  it ;  but  rely  on  it,  Dick, 
the  plan  will  fail  like  all  the  rest." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  dentist. 
"If  it  should  not  succeed,  however,  there  is  a  last 
resort  —  one  that  won't  fail !  " 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  No  matter  now.  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is 
the  evil  thereof,  you  know.  Let  us  try  the  clair 
voyant  first.  Rest  assured,  however,  with  one 


134   FRANK  AND  FORCEPS  AT  FARO  BANK. 

thing,  Frank,  Minnie  Marston  shall  yet  be  yours 
by  fair  means  or  —  r' 

Forceps  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  He  hud 
gone  further  than  he  intended,  and  changing  the 
subject,  he  said,  — 

"  But  let  us  drop  the  matter  for  to-night. 
What  do  you  say  to  going  round  town  and  seeing 
the  elephant  ?  " 

"  You  showed  him  to  me  pretty  effectually  the 
other  night  when  you  took  me  through  the  North- 
End  dance-houses,"  said  Frank.  "  I  got  enough  of 
that  elephant  for  one  while." 

"I  will  show  you  a  quadruped  of  another  color 
to-night,  then.  What  do  you  say  to  the 'tiger,' 
now,  instead  of  the  elephant?  You  have  never 
seen  the  game  of  faro  played,  have  you?" 

"Xo.  My  education,  you  see,  has  been  sadly 
neglected  in  that  line.  I  'd  like  to  behold  the  ani 
mal,  though.  But  faro  requires  money,  I  take 
it?" 

"Generally  —  yes,"  said  Forceps,  dryly. 

"  Luckily  the  '  governor '  tossed  me  a  couple  of 
hundreds  to  put  in  the  bank.  Ahem  !  If  I  de 
posit  it  in  a  faro-bank,  that  will  be  carrying  out 
instructions  in  letter  if  not  in  spirit,  eh?  " 

And  the  young  man  laughed  at  his  facetious- 
ness,  and  Forceps  laughed  still  louder.  The  den 
tist's  cue  was  to  flatter  his  young  dupe  to  the  top 


JERKS  "TURNING  THE  CRANK.'*  135 

of  his  bent ;  for  Frank's  friendship  was  a  mine  of 
gold  to  him,  and  Dick  Forceps  required  a  goodly 
supply  of  the  precious  metal  or  its  equivalent  for 
his  growing  needs. 

"Come  along  then,"  said  the  dentist,  rising. 
"  We  '11  go  and  buck  the  tiger  as  long  as  the 
money  holds  out.  The  royal  animal  holds  forth 
in  a  good  many  places  in  Boston ;  but  I  know 
one  of  his  favorite  haunts,  where  we  shall  find  the 
biggest  nobs  and  swells  of  Boston.  There  you 
can  become  acquainted  with  some  of  the  very 
saints,  philosophers,  and  the  elite  of  the  modern 
Athens.  Don't  be  astonished  at  anything  you  see 
there." 

Dr.  Forceps  conducted  his  young  companion 
to  one  of  the  most  celebrated  club-houses  of  Bos 
ton.  Ostensibly  a  club-house  ;  really  a  fashion 
able  gambling  resort. 

"You  have  made  me  your  'guide,  philosopher, 
and  friend,'  Frank,"  said  Forceps,  "  and  I  'm 
bound  to  put  you  straight  through  the  alphabet  of 
city  life.  There  's  nothing  like  it  for  a  young  man 
just  entering  upon  life.  It  ought  to  be  an  essen 
tial  part  of  the  training  of  a  young  fellow  in  your 
sphere  of  society  When  you  begin  to  grow  old, 
then  it  will  be  time  enough  to  haul  your  bark  up 
into  the  wind  ;  but  youth  is  the  season  for  enjoy 
ment.  You  know  the  old  song  — 


136   FRANK  AND  FORCEPS  AT  FARO  BANK. 

'  Go  it  while  you  're  young,  boys, 
For  when  you  get  old  you  can't.'  " 

It  was  through  such  pernicious  teachings  as 
these  that  Frank  Gildersleeve  was  gradually  slip 
ping  down  the  steep  descent  of  vice.  He  wa.s 
like  many  a  youth  brought  up  amid  the  alluring 
temptations  of  the  city,  without  moral  ballast  and 
with  an  unlimited  supply  of  money  furnished  by 
the  injudicious  liberality  of  doting  parents.  How 
many  times  in  after  life  would  he  look  back  upon 
these  first  steps  in  sin,  and  curse  Avith  bitterest 
maledictions  the  man  whom  he  now  regarded  as 
the  truest  of  friends ;  the  man  who  was  surely 
leading  him  down  to  destruction  ! 

Did  no  thought  of  Minnie  Marston  ever  occur 
to  Frank  Gildersleeve  in  the  midst  of  his  dissipa 
tions?  Did  not  the  influence  of  her  love,  her 
purity,  her  fervent  piety,  seek  to  draw  him  back 
from  the  deadly  brink  of  vice  ?  Yes,  many,  many 
times  !  But  there  was  an  evil  genius  forever  at 
his  side  in  the  person  of  Richard  Forceps,  whose 
influence  was  more  potent  still.  And  the  Evil 
Genius  triumphed  over  the  Good  Angel ! 

The  scene  in  the  gambling-house  was  one  to 
dazzle  and  enchant  a  youthful  imagination.  Soon 
young  Gildersleeve  partook  of  the  excitement 
which  he  saw  painted  on  the  faces  of  the  players. 
Forceps  explained  the  principles  of  the  game, 


JERKS  "TURNING  THE  CRANK."  137 

and  taking  out  some  money  made  several  small 
bets.  He  won  invariably,  and  Frank  was  easily 
induced  to  follow  his  companion's  example.  The 
luck  which  it  is  said  always  accompanies  a  new 
beginner  did  not  desert  Frank  Gildersleeve  that 
night.  Long  after  midnight  he  and  the  dentist 
remained  at  the  club-house,  and  Avhen  they  left 
Frank  had  doubled  the  sum  of  money  that  he 
originally  commenced  with. 

"Here,  Dick,"  he  said,  giving  Forceps  a  hand 
ful  of  bills,  "I'll  go  shares  with  you.  You  were 
not  so  lucky  as  I  was.  I  don't  need  the  money  for 
anything  particular,  and  if  I  did  the  governor  will 
come  down  with  the  spondulicks  whenever  I  ask 
him,  you  know." 

Coming  out  of  the  faro  bank,  Frank  and  For 
ceps  met  Jonathan  Jerks  on  the  sidewalk,  look 
ing  up  at  the  blinded  windows  of  the  house. 

"I  swan  !  Frank,  is  that  you?"  cried  Jonathan, 
grasping  Frank  by  the  hand.  "Why,  great 
Joshua  !  who  'd  a-thought  ter  see  you  a-comin'  out 
of  this  'ere  den.  Why,  my  boy,  d'  ye  know  that  '& 
one  of  the  biggest  gambling  hells  in  Boston?" 

"Hullo!  Jerks,  that  you?"  greeted  Frank, 
cordially.  "  How  are  you  ?  So  you  're  going  to 
reform  the  Hub,  eh?  Well,  you've  got  your 
hands  full." 

"Wai,  I  have  got  a  pretty  hefty  job,"  replied 


138   FRANK  AND  FORCEPS  AT  FARO  BANK. 

Jonathan,  nodding  his  head.  "But  I '11  tackle  it. 
I  '11  turn  the  crank  on  to  'em  an'  make  the  splin 
ters  fly.  But  I  say,"  whispering  in  Frank's  ear, 
"that 's  a  tarnation  mean  place.  Hope  you  hain't 
lost  no  money  nor  nuthin'." 

"Not  much,"  said  Frank,  laughing.  "Made  a 
couple  of  hundred  instead." 

And  Frank  showed  Jerks  a  large  roll  of  bills. 

"  Wai !  wal  1  I  'm  sorry  for  you  !  "  said  Jerks, 
looking  as  solemn  as  an  owl.  "  So  they  let  you 
win  a  little,  eh,  jes'  ter  lead  you  on?  Oh  !  They 
know  you  Ve  got  money,  an'  they  're  bound  ter 
git  it,  too.  Wal,  I  only  wished  you  'd  lost,  now, 
'cause  it  might  have  teached  you  a  good  lesson. 
But  you  're  sure  ter  lose  it  in  the  end.  You  can 
rely  on  that.  They  don't  run  these  'ere  banks  ter 
throw  away  money,  not  much.  Why,  land 
a-massy  !  there  was  a  man  I  knew  —  a  big  mer 
chant  —  got  pulled  into  a  gambling  den  right  here 
in  Montgomery  Place.  Oh  !  They  soft  soaped 
him  nice,  I  tell  ye.  'Ah  !  won't  you  take  dinner 
—  't  won't  cost  nothing,'  they  said.  Gave  him 
high-tone  stuff,  best  wines  an'  liquors,  an'  did  n't 
charge  him  a  red  cent.  Wal,  sir,  the  ropers-in 
tackled  him :  '  Say,  did  you  see  that  feller  win 
$600  last  night  ? '  they  said.  An'  they  told  over 
what  piles  of  cash  they  'd  raked  in  at  faro.  Why, 
they  got  the  pesky  feller  so  excited  by  tellin'  how 


JERKS  "TURNING  THE  CRANK."  131) 

easy  it  was  to  win,  that  he  went  whack  off  an' 
lost  $20  the  first  lick." 

Jonathan  broke  into  a  laugh  and  rolled  his  eyes 
and  twisted  himself  alx>ut  as  if  highly  tickled  at 
the  merchant's  poor  luck. 

"  Wai,  of  course  he  wa'  n't  goin'  ter  lose  money 
like  that,"  continued  Jerks,  with  a  wink.  "  He 
could  n't  afford  it.  So  he  planked  down  $100. 
Was  a-goin'  ter  git  back  his  money  and  $80 
besides,  accordin'  ter  his  reckonin'.  But  the  tar 
nation  thing  did  n't  work  right.  Gosh  !  he  lost 
that,  too  !  Wai,  sir,  that  great  goose  hung  on, 
tooth  an'  nail,  till  he'd  lost  $15,000, — every 
plaguy  copper  he  had,  an'  then  went  ter  losing 
his  creditors'  money.  Slid  through  $10,000  in 
about  the  fastest  time  on  record,  an'  brought  up 
plumb  without  a  cent  ter  his  name.  Moment 
he'd  lost  every  red,  he  got  his  eyes  open,  of 
course.  Wai,  then  he  sailed  in  an'  tried  another 
racket.  Sued  the  boss  an'  another  feller,  the  two 
biggest  gamblers  in  Boston.  Wai,  finally  they 
settled  the  thing  by  lettin'  him  have  $700,  ef  he'd 
git  up  an'  git,  an'  never  come  back  ter  Boston 
agin.  Great  Jehosophat !  When  he  'd  got  $700 
outer'n  the  $25,000  he  'd  fooled  away  gamblin',  he 
felt  like  a  fightin'  cock  — he  'd  made  somethin' 
outer  the  gamblers  arter  all !  " 

"Oh,  well,"   said  Frank,  "I  guess  I'll   know 


140   FRANK  AND  FORCEPS  AT  FARO  BANK. 

when  to  stop.  When  they  get  as  much  money  as 
that  out  of  me,  they  '11  know  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Forceps,  "Frank  is  a  little  too 
shrewd  for  them." 

"  Wai,  sir,  you  '11  have  ter  wake  up  mighty 
!  early  in  the  mornin'  ter  get  ahead  of  the  gam 
blers.  They'll  skin  you  out  of  your  eye-teeth, 
a'most.  Gosh  !  There  was  a  young  Connecticut 
feller  came  ter  Harvard  ter  gife  edicated.  His  dad 
had  the  cash  an'  wanted  his  son  ter  know  some- 
thin'.  Wai,  the  young  sprig  used  ter  loaf  'round 
the  Parker  House  —  o'  course  you  know  that  's 
the  headquarters,  as  'twere,  of  Harvard  —  an' got 
ter  go  hi'  rayther  steep.  Got  roped  into  the  high- 
toned  gamblin'  den  on  Beacon  Street.  Wai,  I 
tell  you  there  wa'  n't  nothing  scarey  about  him. 
He  'd  f  buck  the  tiger '  to  his  last  cent,  an'  then 
borrow  money  ter  keep  at  it.  Jes'  as  leave  spend 
his  friends'  money  as  his  own  —  rayther,  I  guess. 
Wai,  pop  kept  a-sendin'  him  money  like  all  Jeru 
salem  !  An'  the  young  chip  kept  a-writin'  back  : 
'  O  pa !  the  money  you  sent  I  ?ve  lost.  Oh  dear ! 
please  send  some  more.' 

wWal,  he  didn't  lie;  he  had  lost  the  money, 
only  he  forgot  ter  say  anythin'  about  faro.  Dad 
sent  an'  sent,  until  he  began  ter  think  the  young 
blood  could  lose  money  a  plaguy  sight  quicker  'n 
he  could  earn  it.  Why,  the  cheeky  fellow  even 


JERKS  "TURNING  THE  CHANK."  141 

borrowed  money  from  a  tailor  an'  told  him  ter 
send  a  fat  bill  for  clothes  which  he  hadn't  had  ter 
his  dad.  By  hokey  !  the  old  man  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer.  Edication  was  a-costin'  a  leetle 
too  much  ter  suit  him.  Wai,  he  come  ter  Boston, 
found  the  young  feller,  paid  his  debts,  an'  took 
him  home  by  the  fust  train." 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Frank.  "Guess  he  found 
the  young  fellow  knew  a  sight  too  much,  eh?  " 

"  Or  perhaps  he  thought  he  could  educate  him 
cheaper  at  home,"  put  in  Forceps,  with  a  smile. 
"Well,  I  presume  he's  only  a  type  of  hundreds." 

tf  Yes,  sir,  you  hit  it  smack  now,"  said  Jerks 
with  emphasis.  "  There 's  any  quantity  of  young 
fellers,"  looking  at  Frank  significantly >  "  that 's 
a-going  it  mighty  fast,  an'  if  they  ain't  careful, 
they'll  fetch  up  mighty  short." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THK    SIBYL    INVOKED.  —  MINNIE    HAS    HER     FORTUNE 

TOLD. 

"COME,  Minnie,"  said  Frank,  a  few  nights  after; 
the  visit  to  the  faro  bank,  "  what  do  you  say  toi; 
having  your  fortune  told  ?  Young  ladies  are  gen 
erally  anxious  to  know  what  the  future  holds  in 
store  for  them,  I  believe." 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,  Frank.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  harm  in  it,  but  if  I  was  at  home  I  do 
not  think  my  friends  would  approve  of  my  con 
sulting  a  fortune-teller." 

"O,  your  friends  are  too  straitlaced,  Minnie. 
Perhaps  they  would  not  have  approved  of  your 
going  to  the  theatre,  and  yet  you  saw  nothing 
very  wrong  there." 

"I  fear  your  ideas  of  wrong  and  mine,  Frank, 
are  somewhat  different,"  said  Minnie.  Pi  am 
country  bred  and  have  always  been  taught  to 
avoid  the  very  appearance  of  evil.  ^  But  of  this  I 
feel  sure,  that  you  wouTdTnlSFalsTt  me  to  go  to  any 
place  where  you  would  hesitate  to  take  a  sister." 

"  Assuredly  not,  dear  Minnie.  You  will  go  with 
me,  then?  " 


MINNIE    HAS    HER   FORTUNE    TOLD.  143 

Minnie's  curiosity  was  aroused  to  such  a  degree 
and  her  confidence  in  Frank  so  complete,  that  she 
raised  no  further  objections,  and  consented  to 
accompany  him. 

Poor   moth,    how  thou    dost   flutter    and   play  I 
about  the  candle  that  is  so  soon  to  singe  thy  wings.  / 
God  help  thee  !  poor  girl.    Oh,  that  He  would  put 
it  into  the  heart "of  brother  or  friend  to  come  and 
rescue  thee  from  the  fascination  of  the  serpent,  to 
break  the    spell   and  draw   thee    out   of  danger 
ere  the  coils  are  wrapped  around  thee   and  the 
envenomed   fangs   fasten    on   thy   purity.       Pure  I 
maiden,  fair  flower,  sweet  bud  of  innocence,  little 
dost  thou  know  of  the  storm  that  is  darkening  the 
horizon  of  thy  young  life  !    Little  dost  thou  know 
that     clouds     are     gathering    above    thy    head ! 
Heaven   guard  thee  ;    heaven  help  thee ;    for  the 
hour  of  thy  trial  draws  near  ! 

"  This  way,  sir,  and  madam ;  this  way,  step 
softly  ;  miss  is  in  a  trance.  She  will  be  out  of  it 
soon  and  then  you  will  be  attended  to." 

So  said  the  Abigail  of  the  fortune-teller  to 
Frank  and  Minnie,  who,  heeding  the  injunction 
"  Don't  Ring,"  pasted  on  the  side  of  the  door,  had 
ascended  the  stairs  to  the  landing  of  the  second 
floor. 

They  were   not  kept  waiting   long,    and  soon 


144  THE    SIBYL   INVOKED. 

were  ushered  into  a  room  where  in  the  depths  of 
an  arm-chair  sat  the  seer,  or  the  seeress  rather, 
for  the  prophet  was  a  woman. 

Yes,  a  woman,  and  one  who  aimed  to  he 
thought  young ;  but  as  an  aimer  she  would  never  / 
have  taken  rank  as  a  sharp  shooter,  for  notwith 
standing  the  paint  and  the  powder,  the  ruffles  and 
frizzes,  the  "idiot  fringe"  and  the  paste  and: 
plated  jewelry,  the  lines  on  the  brow,  the  crows'! 
feet  under  the  eyes,  the  scraggy  neck  and  attenu 
ated  bust,  all  told  a  talc  of  Time. 

Her  eyes  met  those  of  Frank  with  a  quick 
glance  of  recognition  and  intelligence  ;  but  other 
wise  she  received  him  as  a  perfect  stranger. 

The  clairvoyant  smiled  benevolently  on  Minnie. 

"If  you  have  come  to  have  your  fortune  told/' 
she  said,  "my  task  will  be  easy;  for  the  future 
can  hold  nothing  but  good  in  store  for  such  a 
sweet  face  as  yours,  young  lady." 

Minnie  blushed  and  said,  somewhat  impaticnth-, 
"I  did  not  come  here  to  be  flattered,  madam.  I 
came  to  have  my  fortune  told." 

The  sibyl  dropped  her  eyelids,  and  rubbing  one 
hand  over  the  other,  said,  — 

"Well,  then,  my  dear,  what  do  you  prefer, — 
the  tea-grounds,  cards,  or  clairvoyance  ?" 

Minnie  looked  to  Frank  for  instructions. 

"  O  hang  it,"  said  he,  "  let 's  have  all  three.    If  a 


MINNIE   HAS    HER   FORTUNE    TOLD.  145 

thing  's  worth  doing  tit  all  it 's  worth  doing  well. 
Never  mind  the  cost ;  go  ahead.  Give  us  the  tea- 
grounds  first,  then  the  cards,  and  then  you  can 
disembody  yourself  and  let  the  spirits  take  pos 
session  of  you,  and  we  '11  hear  what  they  have  to 
say  about  it." 

A  cup  was  brought  containing  a  little  tea  and 
tea  grounds. 

Minnie  was  directed  by  the  fortune-teller  to 
shake  the  cup  gently  and  then  invert  it  on  a  table, 
keeping  her  hand  for  a  moment  on  the  bottom. 

The  directions  were  complied  with. 

The  seeress  then  took  the  cup  in  her  hand  and 
gazed  into  it  for  a  moment. 

"  A  young  man  and  a  young  woman,"  she  said 
at  last.  "Ah  !  I  see.  I  see  ;  happy,  happy  love  ! 
Some  little  clouds  in  the  sky,  but  they  quickly 
disappear.  Yes ;  now  the  sky  is  clear.  Ah ! 
what  is  this?  Bridesmaids,  groomsmen,  and  a 
handsome  couple  !  Ha  !  ha  !  That 's  what  the 
cup  tells,  but  I  may  be  wrong.  Say,  am  I?" 
drooping  her  languishing  eyelashes  over  the  crows 
feet,  and  turning  to  Minnie. 

Minnie  looked  at  Frank  in  surprise. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  You  're  not  far 
out  of  the  way  !  Try  the  cards." 

The  cards  were  shuffled,  and  of  course  turned 
up  the  young  man  and  young  woman,  and  the 
10 


146  THE    SIBYL    INVOKED. 

bridesmaids  and  the  groomsmen,  and  all  sur 
rounded  by  the  same  auspicious  circumstances. 

But  the  seeress  capped  the  climax  when  she 
went  into  a  trance,  in  which  condition  she  was 
assisted  by  her  Abigail,  who  put  the  questions  to 
which  she  made  replies. 

ABIGAIL.  "  AYhose  spirit  has  possession  of  the 
body  of  my  mistress  ?  " 

SEERESS.  "  The  spirit  of  Hahahoopahoop,  the 
great  medicine  man  of  the  Six  Nations." 

ABIGAIL.     "  Do  you  know  the  future  ?  " 

SEERESS.  "  I  do  ;  hurry,  for  your  mistress  will 
be  greatly  exhausted  if  you  keep  me  long." 

ABIGAIL.     "  Who  are  these  persons  here  ?  " 

SEERESS.  "  Two  sincere  lovers  who  wish  to 
pierce  the  veil  of  the  future." 

Minnie  stole  a  blushing  look  at  Frank. 

ABIGAIL.  "Will  you  reveal  what  the  future 
has  in  store  for  them  ?  " 

SEERESS.  "  These  two  shall  be  wed  according 
to  the  laws  of  man,  although  there  is  no  need  of 
it,  for  they  are  now  wedded  in  the  sight  of  heaven. 
They  are  as  much  man  and  wife  now  as  they 
ever  will  be,  for  they  love  and  trust  one  another. 
Marriage  is  nothing;  it  is  merely  a  recognition,  a 
compliance  with  human  custom.  We  in  the  spirit 
world  do  not  consider  marriage  or  the  ceremony 
of  marriage  as  a  tie  to  bind  two  loving  hearts. 


MINNIE   HAS    HER  FORTUNE   TOLD.  147 

When  a,  couple  mate,  they  mate,  marriage  or  no 
marriage.  Were  these  two  to  live  as  man  and 
wife,  without  any  marriage  ceremony,  they  would 
be  as  pure  in  the  sight  of  heaven  as  if  they  were 
married  by  five  hundred  priests  or  ministers  or 
an  army  of  justices  of  the  peace.  Marriage 
is  a  curse.  Two  hearts  mating  is  heaven's  law. 
Do  the  birds  marry?  Those  sweet  songsters  of 
heaven  who  fill  the  air  with  their  melody  and 
make  all  nature  rejoice.  Does  the  lion  who  roams 
the  forest  and  makes  all  other  beasts  tremble  with 
his  roarings  marry  ?  No ;  lie  mates  as  the  birds 
mate  ;  takes  his  partner  for  life  and  sticks  true  to 
her,  forages  for,  protects  her,  fights  for  her,  and 
dies  for  her  !  Love  is  all !  Love  is  mighty  !  Love 
conquers  everything !  " 

The  sibyl  paused  as  if  for  breath,  and  then 
continued  :  — 

"  The  young  man  here  understands  all  this, 
appreciates  it  and  approves  of  it.  For  he  has 
been  educated  in  a  liberal  school.  He  is  a  tran- 
scendentalist  in  religion  ;  he  believes  in  the  divinity 
of  culture,  despises  all  forms  and  ceremonies  and 
only  acts  in  accordance  with  the  dictates  of  an 
approving  conscience.  He  has  weighed  orthodoxy 
in  the  balance  and  found  it  wanting.  He  has 
studied  the  narrow-minded  sects  who  strain  at  a 
gnat  and  swallow  a  camel.  He  is  disgusted  with 


148  THE    SIBYL    INVOKED 

them  and  strikes  out  for  himself.  He  has  found 
the  open  sea  and  now  flouts  pleasantly  along,  an 
honor  to  his  friends  and  an  example  to  society. 
With  the  young  lady,  — beautiful,  pure,  and  good, 
an  angel  in  human  guise,  —  it  is  different.  She 
is  hedged  in  and  fenced  about  with  the  gloom  of 
puritanism,  the  opaque  atmosphere  of  orthodoxy. 
Everything  that  savors  of  liberality,  of  liberty,  of 
culture,  offends  her  preconceived  notions,  outrages 
her  deeply  seated  principles,  and  causes  her,  like 
the  chased  ostrich  which  hides  its  head  in  the 
desert  sands,  to  fly  for  refuge  to  and  hide  herself 
behind  a  text  of  Scripture  or  an  aphorism  such  as 
'Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,'  or,  like  Bunyan, 
putting  her  fingers  in  her  ears  and  crying  r  Eternal 
life  !  eternal  life  !  '  Poor  girl  !  she  is  rather  to 
be  pitied  than  blamed.  Remember  her  training, 
the  gloom  that  has  surrounded  her  from  child 
hood,  the  fact  that  she  has  been  gorged  with  the 
principles  of  the  idiotic  and  austere  people  who 
burned  witches  and  persecuted  Quakers. 

"But  enough  of  this.  The  two  will  be  one 
according  to  human  law  as  they  are  now  one  in 
heart ;  the  young  man  out  of  his  deep  love  for 
her  will  sink  all  his  intelligent  notions  to  satisfy 
her  scruples.  But  should  he  not,  they  are  still 
one  in  the  sight  of  heaven,  and  no  earthly  power 
can  separate  them,  nothing  can  drag  them 


MINNIE   HAS   HER  FORTUNE   TOLD.  149 

asunder;    he  is  hers    and  she  is  his,  blessing  on 
her  sweet  face  !     Adieu." 

The  seeress  slowly  came  to  life  and  gazed  about 
her  with  a  vacant  stare. 

"You  are  very  much  exhausted,"  said  the 
Abigail. 

"And  I  am  very  much  disgusted,"  said  Minnie,  \ 
indignantly  rising  to  her  feet.     "  Frank,  take  me  \ 
home.     I  know  you  cannot  approve  of  tliis  bias-  j 
phemy." 

Frank  hung  his  head  sheepishly,  silently  gave 
Minnie  his  arm,  and  they  passed  from  the  house. 

"If  that  was  a  spirit,"  said  Minnie,  "it  said  you 
approved  of  it  all." 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Frank,  cautiously. 

"  Strange !  You  surely  do  not  indorse  what 
that  woman  said  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not.  And  yet  she  told  so  much  that 
was  true  that  I  hardly  know  what  to  think,"  said 
Frank,  dubiously. 

Minnie  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Surely,"  she  said,  "  you  have  no  doubts  as 
her  wicked  ideas  about  marriage?" 

f'  Why  not?"  asked  the  young  man,  raising  his 
eyes  and  looking  at  her  steadily. 

"Because,"  said  Minnie,  making  an  attempt  to 
withdraw  her  arm  from  his,  and  failing  to  do  so, 
bursting  into  tears,  —  "Because,  if  such  is  the 
case,  L  must;  give  up  your  company  entirely." 


150  THE    SIBYL    INVOKED. 

Frank  Gildersleeve  saw  at  once  how  vain  this 
precious  scheme  hud  been.  Minnie  had  stood  the 
test.  It  was  plain  that  her  principles  were  not  to 
be  corrupted.  'Both  the  dentist  and  the  dupe  he 
was  leading  to  ruin  had  underestimated  the  young 
girl's  strength  of  character. 

The  danger  of  losing  n"er  entirely,  the  fear  that 
she  would  give  up  his  company  as  she  had  threat 
ened,  alarmed  the  young  man.  His  passions  had 
been  strongly  stirred  by  her  beauty.  He  loved 
her,  though  his  love  had  in  it  no  element  of  purity, 
truth,  or  honor.  So  he  said  hastily,  — 

"  You  mistake  me,  dear  Minnie.  I  was  only 
trying  you.  Forgive  me,  my  dear.  If  I  had 
dreamed  of  what  has  occurred,  I  certainly  would 
never  have  taken  you  to  that  place.  No,  my 
dearest  Minnie,  I  do  not  believe  that  creature's 
words,  excepting  her  prophecy  concerning  our 
marriage.  That  at  least  I  hope  you  are  not 
opposed  to." 

Minnie  gave  him  a  blushing  answer  that  at  once 
reassured  her  lover.  Nevertheless  many  harass 
ing  doubts  perplexed  the  young  girl.  A  name 
less  dread  of  some  threatening  danger  filled  her 
soul.  Her  serious  look  and  silent  manner  made 
Frank  uncomfortable,  and  he  tried  to  cheer  her 
and  sought  in  vain  to  learn  what  it  was  that 
troubled  her.  But  Minnie  would  not  reveal  her 
secret  apprehensions. 


MINNIE   HAS   HER   FORTUNE   TOLD.  151 

Minnie  reached  her  room  sad  at  heart,  sadder 
than  when  she  had  gone  home  from  the  theatre. 
But  as  she  was  dressing  her  hair  for  the  night,  there 

O  O          ' 

came  to  her  mind  the  air  and  the  words  of  "  Sweet 
Hour  of  Prayer."  She  softly  sang  the  hymn  and 
then  knelt  and  prayed  fervently  that  the  Lord 
would  keep  her  in  the  right  way ;  and  then  she 
went  to  bed,  and  when  slumber  had  closed  her 
eyes,  and  her  fair  head  lay  on  her  beautifully 
rounded  arm,  the  tears  lay  on  her  blooming 
cheeks,  like  dew-drops  sparkling  on  a  moss  rose. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A   DIABOLICAL    PLOT.  —  FRANK   ON   HIS   KNEES. 

"THE  fortune-telling  scheme  was  a  failure,"  said 
Frank  to  Forceps,  next  day  in  the  dentist's  office. 
"Minnie  would  yield  neither  to  the  teacup,  the 
cards,  nor  the  clairvoyance.  By  Jove  !  I  Ve  a 
good  mind  to  marry  her  sub  rosa.  Would  many 
her  to-day  if  I  thought  my  mother  would  receive 
her." 

"Your  mother  would  as  soon  you  married  a 
girl  from  out  the  slums,  as  Minnie,"  said  Dr.  For 
ceps.  "  She  would  think  the  Gildersleeve  family 
disgraced  forever  if  you  carried  this  country  girl 
to  her  as  your  wife.'' 

"Is  she  not  good,  pure,  and  beautiful,  —  a  fit 
wife  for  a  President  of  the  United  States  ? "  said 
Frank. 

"Maybe  for  a  President  of  the  United  States, 
but  not  a  fit  wife  for  the  son  of  one  of  the  oldest 
families  on  Beacon  Hill." 

"Then  I'll  go  no  further  with  it.  I  am  wearied 
o'ut.  'Hope  deferred  maketh  the  heart  sick.'" 


FRANK   ON    HIS    KNEES.  153 

"Pshaw  !  'Faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair  lady,'  you 
know.  Come,  don't  be  despondent,  Frank.  IVe 
will  try  other  means.  You  are  infatuated  with 
the  girl's  beauty.  I  know  you,  my  boy  !  You 
could  never  resolve  to  give  her  up,  eh?" 

"  No !  I  love  Minnie  Marston,"  exclaimed 
Frank,  fervently.  "  She  must,  she  shall  be  mine  !" 

"  Good,  I  see  you  mean  business.  Now  listen 
to  me." 

The  doctor  whispered  a  word  or  two  in  Frank's 
ear. 

The  latter  started  to  his  feet  and  his  face  flushed 
hotly. 

"  Oh  !    It  is  villanous  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  doctor  coolly  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
cigar,  and  taking  another  puff,  said,  — 

"  It  is  the  only  plan,  and  it  is  a  sure  one." 

At  this  moment  Minnie  entered.  She  ex 
changed  greetings  with  Frank,  and  bowed  to  the 
doctor.  Forceps  smiled  in  return,  and  said  to  the 
young  girl,  — 

"I  was  just  telling  my  partner,  Miss  Marston, 
about  your  case.  I  am  unexpectedly  summoned 
away,  and  shall  have  to  leave  him  to  perform  the 
operation.  Unless,"  he  added,  "  you  would  prefer 
to  call  another  day  ?  " 

But  Minnie  did  not  care  to  wait,  and  so  in 
formed  the  dentist. 


154  A    DIABOLICAL    PLOT. 

"Very  well,"  returned  Forceps,  "Frank  is  very 
skilful,  and  I  will  then  leave  you  to  his  charge. 
You  have  never  before  taken  ether,  I  think  you 
said  the  other  day  ?  " 

Minnie  replied  No,  that  she  had  not. 

"  Then  you  have  a  very  delightful  sensation  to 
experience,"  said  Forceps,  with  his  pleasant  smile. 
lie  then  pretended  to  give  Frank  certain  direc 
tions  and  took  his  leave. 

*'  Have  no  fear,  Minnie,"  said  Frank,  as  he 
prepared  to  administer  the  ether.  "  Eemember, 
you  are  with  one  who  loves  you  above  everything 
else  in  the  world." 

"  Oh !  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  you,  dear 
Frank,"  were  Minnie's  last  words,  before  she 
lapsed  into  insensibility. 

When  Minnie  Marston  awoke  to  consciousness, 
she  found  herself  reclining  in  the  dentist's  chair, 
Frank  standing  near  by,  trembling,  downcast. 
His  guilty  face  and  her  own  sensations  led  her  in 
an  instant  to  a  realization  of  what  had  occurred 
during  her  sleep.  The  truth,  the  awful,  hideous 
truth,  broke  upon  her  startled  senses.  She  gave 
utterance  to  a  cry  that  smote  the  young  villain  to 
the  heart. 

"Oh!  Wretch!  Wretch!  What  have  you 
done  ?  "  she  cried. 

"Forgive  me,  Minnie!     On  my  bended  knees 


FRANK   ON    HIS   KNEES.  155 

I  implore  your  forgiveness  !  "  pleaded  Frar  k  Gil- 
dersleeve. 

But  she  heeded  him  not,  and  without  a  word, 
sought  to  rush  by  him  and  reach  the  door.  Her 
intention  was  manifest  in  her  horror-stricken  face. 
But  Frank  intercepted  her  and  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock. 

"Stop,  Minnie,"  he  cried,  frantically.  "Curb 
your  resentment.  As  God  hears  me,  I  will  do 
you  no  further  harm." 

"No  further  harm!"  she  answered,  — -"no  fur 
ther  harm  !  Is  there  any  further  harm  youcoi 
do  nie,  Frank  Gildersleeve  ?  Take  that  knife  I 
see  lying  there  !  Plunge  it  into  my  heart !  Mur 
der  me  as  you  have  slain  my  honor,  my  innocencj 
If  you  will  do  that,  I  may  forgive  you  !  "  jjji 

"  Oh  !  Minnie  !  I  did  not  mean  to  wrong  you. 
I  was  overcome  by  your  loveliness.  Your  beauty 
intoxicated  me  to  madness.  Oh !  I  knew  not 
what  I  did.  Say,  oh  !  say  you  forgive  me,  Min 
nie  !  I  would  give  my  life  freely  to  atone  for 
this  cruel  deed  !  " 

> 

"  Your  life  !  As  if  your  miserable  life  could 
wipe  out  the  stain  upon  my  name.  As  if  oceans 
of  blood  could  wash  out  the  degradation  you  have; 
heaped  upon  my  soul !  " 

Then  in  a  piteous  tone,— 

"  Oh  !  Frank  !  Frank  !  was  it  for  this  you  wo'n 


156  A   DIABOLICAL   PLOT. 

my  love?  Was  it  for  this  all  your  soft  speeches 
and  honeyed  words  were  coined  ?  Oh  !  God  !  Oh  ! 
God  !  My  punishment  is  more  than  I  can  bear  !  " 

"  But  I  Avill  repair  the  wrong,  Minnie,"  said  the 
trembling  Frank.  "  I  will  do  anything  you  say  ! 
I  love  you,  — oh!  I  never  loved  you  so  much  as 
now  !  "  ^ 

"  Dare  not  speak  of  love  to  me,  Frank  Gilder-  \ 
sleeve.  Does  the  mother  murder  her  offspring 
out  of  love  ?  Does  the  husband  strike  down  the 
wrife  because  of  his  love?  Does  the  lover  pollute 
and  destroy  that  which  he  loves  ?  Never  !  Only 
a  brutal,  heartless  monster,  without  one  single 
spark  of  human  feeling  in  his  bosom,  w^ould  so 
misuse  a  poor,  friendless,  and  unprotected  girl." 
And  overcome  by  her  feelings,  Minnie  burst  into 
tears,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Then  rising  in  the  might  of  her  faith,  she 
cried,  — 

w  Friendless,  do  I  say?  No!  no!  I  am  not 
friendless.  I  have  God  and  justice  on  my  side. 
There  is  a  power  that  shall  make  you  tremble  !  I 
will  denounce  you  to  the  whole  world.  You  shall 
feel  all  the  terrors  which  you  have  made  me  suf 
fer  !  I  will  cry  my  wrongs  out  in  the  very  street  ! 
People  will  point  to  you  as  to  some  venomous 
beast.  I  will  rouse  the  hue  and  cry  of  public  de 
testation  against  you !  You  shall  be  driven  out 


FRANK    ON    HIS    KNEES.  157 

jf. 

of  society !     Scouted  and  driven  out  as  the  lepers 
were  of  old  !     Stand  aside,  I  say  !     Do  not  dare  • 
to  stop  me  !     Move  away  from  that  door !     Or  t 
you  shall  know  what  it  is  to  rouse  even  so  weak  a  J 
girl  as  I  am  to  desperation  !  " 

Frank  Gildersleeve,  physically  brave,  when 
moved  by  a  worthy  sentiment,  trembled  now  like  a 
coward  and  a  dastard,  before  the  girl  whom  he  had 
driven  to  such  wild  frenzy. 

"  Minnie  !  clear  Minnie  !  "  he  said  piteously. 
"  Pray  hear  me.  I  knew  not  what  I  was  doing. 
Oh  !  Have  pity  on  me !  Think  of  the  disgrace, 
the  shame  you  condemn  me  to !  You  do  not 
know  all !  Exposure  would  be  worse  than  death 
to  nie.  Alas  !  I  have  deceived  you.  I  am  not  a 
poor  man  ;  not  a  poor  dentist,  but  the  only  son  of 
a  proud  and  wealthy  family.  Should  my  father 
know  of  this  he  would  disinherit  and  disown  me. 
All  my  prospects  would  be  gone,  all  my  hopes  in 
life  ruined.  Oh !  Minnie !  Be  merciful  !  Be 
merciful,  and  forgive  me  !  " 

The  young  girl  passionately  exclaimed, — 

"  Were  you  merciful  to  me  ?  Did  you  think  of 
my  youth,  my  sex,  my  helplessness  !  Could  not 
the  sight  ofm^ppwerless  condition  appeal  to^y^jur 
manhood?  Did  no  spark  of  human  feeling  plead 
for  my  innocence?  Could  no  thought  of  your 
mother  —  of  your  sister,  if  you  have  a  sister  — 
restrain  you  from  your  wicked  purpose  ?  Could 


158  A   DIABOLICAL    PLOT. 

not  my  trust  in  you  —  my  perfect  trust  in  your 
love,  truth,  and  honor  —  touch  your  heart?" 

Frank  Gilclersleeve  shook  like  an  aspen  as  she 
went  on.  Words  of  fire  leaped  to  her  lips.  In 
her  maddened  feelings  she  —  the  delicate  girl, 
whose  tongue  was  a  stranger  to  aught  but  the 
purest  language,  whose  heart  ..had  never  known 
anything  but  the  softest  emotions  —  she  heaped 
upon  him  the  bitterest,  withering  maledictions, 
called  down  the  curse  of  heaven  on  his  head, 
giving  to  her  tones  such  a  frightful  energy  and 
blasting  intensity,  that  to  him  she  seemed  like  an 
avenging  angel,  and  filled  him  with  a  terror  that 
caused  him  to  quake  like  one  in  mortal  dread. 

"Minnie!  In  Heaven's  name,  be  calm!"  he 
cried,  still  on  his  knees,  and  seeking  to  take  her 
hand. 

"  Calm  !  "  cried  the  young  girl,  her  excitement 
rising  higher  and  higher  and  her  eyes  flashing 
wildly,  "  I  will  not  be  calm  !  Wretch  !  viper  ! 
robber  of  innocence  !  Your  crime  shall  not  go 
unpunished !  You  shall  feel  the  weight  of  the 
law  !  I  will  not  spare  you  !  No  !  No  !  It  Avould 
be  a  sin,  a  crime  against  heaven !  The  cause  of 
truth,  of  innocence,  of  sacred  justice  cries  out  to 
me  aloud  and  bids  me  spare  you  not !  No  !  No  ! 
In  prison  shall  you  suffer !«  In  prison  expiate 
your  foul  crime  !  " 

She  stood  glowering  over  him  like  an  inspired 


FRANK  OX   HIS   KNEES.  359 

prophetess,  invoking  the  thunders  of  heaven  on 
his  head.  The  guilty  man  looked  upon  her,  and 
seeing  no  hope  of  mercy  in  that  hardened,  flashing 
countenance,  he  cried,  abjectly, — 

"  Oh  !  my  God  !  my  God  !  My  life,  my  honor, 
reputation,  —  all  are  in  your  hands.  God  pardon 
my  sin,  since  I  can  hope  nothing  from  you  I" 

Then  starting  to  his  feet,  as  if  seeing  a  vision, 
he  cried, — 

"  I  submit !  I  yield  to  inexorable  fate  !  Hor 
rors  !  Horrors  !  Already  the  prison  cell  opens 
to  my  sight !  The  iron  bars  shut  me  out  from 
the  light  of  day !  I  hear  my  mother's  frantic 
moans  !  My  sister's  —  my  little  Gertrude's  fren 
zied  cries  !  Alas  !  Alas  !  I  am  to  be  the  inmate 
of  that  horrible  place  !  Chained  like  a  wild  beast ! 
Deprived  of  God's  bright  sunshine !  Bereft  of 
every  comfort !  Clad  in  felon's  garb !  An  out 
cast  !  A  pariah !  Never  to  look  my  fellows 
openly  in  the  face  !  I,  Frank  Gildersleeve,  son 
of  wealth  and  honored  name  !  Great  Heavens  ! 
Can  it  be  !  Alas  !  It  must  be  !  I  read  it  in  your 
eyes,  implacable  girl !  "  he  went  on,  sorrowfully 
turning  to  his  victim. 

"  But  oh  !  Minnie  !  I  have  one  request  to  make, 
—  one  last  request !  It  is  this  :  that  you  pray 
for  me  !  Here,  I  humble  myself  at  your  feet. 
Here  I  ask,  implore  it!  When  next  Sunday  — 


160  A   DIABOLICAL    PLOT. 

Easter  Sunday,  set  apart  in  commemoration  of 
Him  who  rose  from  the  dead  !  —  when  you  enter 
the  sanctuary,  and  amid  the  perfume  of  flowers 
and  anthems  of  praise  rising  like  incense  to  tlu 
Throne  of  Mercy  and  Grace  —  as  you  prayerfully 
bow  and  ask  mercy  for  your  sins,  think,  Minnie, 
oh !  think  of  him  whom  you  have  condemned  to 
loneliness  and  despair,  shut  up  within  stone  Avails  ! 
Exiled  from  his  kind  !  A  prey  to  wasting  misery 
and  remorse !  Without  a  friend !  Without  a 
prayer  !  Without  a  hope  !  " 

Minnie  heard  this  touching  appeal  with  con 
tending  emotions.  At  first  with  disdain,  then 
with  trembling  wonder,  and  at  last  with  a  bosom 
throbbing  with  pity.  He  saw  this,  and  hope  sud 
denly  fired  his  drooping  spirits.  He  clasped  his 
hands  in  wild  appeal,  half  starting  to  his  feet. 

"You  are  moved,  your  heart  is  not  all  stone  ! " 
he  cried.  "  Oh  !  Minnie  !  Minnie  !  Save  me  ! 
Heed  the  v6ice  that  is  pleading  at  your  heart. 
Save  me  !  Save  me  !  In  God's  dear  name,  save 
me  from  a  felon's  fate  ! " 

She  could  not  speak  at  once.  Her  voice  was 
choked  with  sobs.  At  last,  with  an  effort  she 
crushed  down  her  emotion  and  said  faintly,  and 
oh  !  so  sadly,  — 

"Frank  Gildersleeve,  for  your  sake  I  would 
have  laid  down  my  life.  You  know  not  the 


FRANK    ON    HIS    KNEES.  161 

depth,  the  sacrificing  power  of  woman's  love ! 
Ay  !  mv  life  I  would  have  given  for  your  happi 
ness.  (But  not  even  for  you  would  I  sacrifice  that 
most  precious  thing  to  woman  —  that  which  is 
dearer  than  life  itself — my  honor u  Oh!  Frank 
Gildersleeve  !  Though  youTiave~~  wronged  me, 
stolen  the  very  jewel  of  my  soul,  made  me  a 
thing  of  horror  and  contempt  even  to  myself, — 
yet  my  heart  pleads  for  you.  I  ought  to  despise 
and  hate  you.  But  God  help  me  !  I  still  love 
you  !  Do  not  then  drive  me  out  of  myself !  Do 
not  put  in  jeopardy  the  love  I  have  for  you.  Save 
yourself —  save  me  !  Redeem  the  evil  you  have 
wrought.  Swear  to  me  that  you  will  remove  the 
stain  your  evil  passion  has  fixed  upon  me.  Make 
me  your  wife,  —  shield  me  from  the  contempt  and 
execration  of  the  world,  of  my  parents  and  friends  ; 
give  me  that  which  you  have  promised  to  give 
me  time  and  again, — the  right  to  hold  up  my 
head  and  look  all  mankind  in  the  face !  Make 
me  an  honest  woman  !  Marry  me.  Then,  and 
not  till  then,  will  I  forgive  you  my  wrong  !  " 

"I  win  make  you  my  wife,  Minnie  ! "  exclaimed 
Frank,  deeply  moved.  "  God  knows  I  would 
give  worlds  to  undo  what  I  have  done.  Fear  not ! 
There  is  no  power,  no  dread,  no  earthly  consider 
ation  that  shall  hinder  me  from  doing  you  justice  1 
If  you  can  take  such  a  vile  wretch  as  I  am  for  a 
11 


A    DIABOLICAL    PLOT. 

husband,  Minnie,  — if  you  will  not  turn  from  me 
in  loathing  mid  horror  at  the  very  altar,  —  you  shall 
be  my  wife.  Here  on  my  knees  I  solemnly 
swear  it ! " 

"  God  hears  your  voMr,  Frank  Gildersleeve  ! '' 
said  Minnie,  solemnly.  "  On  your  head  be  the 
consequences  as  you  are  true  or  false  to  it.  And 
now  let  me  leave  this  place.  Its  very  atmosphere 
suffocates  me." 

Frank  offered  to  assist  her  down  the  stairs ; 
but  she  would  not  suffer  him  to  touch  her ;  with 
the  sense  of  all  she  had  endured  at  his  hands,  so 
fresh  upon  her,  she  recoiled  from  him  as  she 
would  from  a  serpent.  The  feeling  would  wear 
off,  she  knew.  Her  love  had  not  been  idly  given. 
Her  heart  still  beat  tenderly  for  the  man  who  had 
wronged  her ;  but  she  could  not  forgive  him  all 
at  once.  Time  must  be  given  her  to  calm  and 
assuage  the  sting  and  smart  of  her  lacerated  feel 
ings.  And  so  she  told  him. 

They  parted  at  the  door,  and  Minnie,  her  mind 
in  a  whirl,  and  sick  and  almost  fainting,  slowly 
pursued  her  way  homeward  alone. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   GILDERSLEEVES   AT    HOME.  — DINING    AND 
WINING    ON   BEACON    HILL. 

"  THIS  way,  Father  Titus  ;  this  way,"  said  Mr. 
Augustus  Gildersleeve,  ushering  into  his  dining- 
room  a  short,  stout  man  dressed  in  the  clerical 
habit  of  a  Catholic  priest. 

Around  the  dining-table  were  seated  a  party  of 
gentlemen. 

Augustus  Gildersleeve  was  entertaining  a  few 
select  friends,  — three  celebrated  divines. 

They  were  of  the  liberal  faith,  and  loved  and 
admired  Mr.  Gildersleeve  if  for  nothing  more 
than  for  his  famous  wines  and  still  more  famous 
dinners. 

First  was  the  Reverend  Erasmus  Poindexter,  a 
transcentlentalist.  Next  to  him  was  seated  the 
Reverend  Hilary  Cecil,  an  easy-going  preacher  of 
the  easv-firoinir  school.  The  third  was  the  Rev- 

«       O 

erend  Gideon  Onslaught,  once  a  zealous  Orthodox 
revivalist,  now  the  most  noted,  the  most  rabid  of 
Orthodox  assailants. 

Mr.    Gildersleeve  boasted  that   his    house  was 


16'4  THE    GILDERSLEEVES    AT   HOME. 

Liberty  Hull :  in  other  words,  he  was  ostenta 
tiously  hospitable. 

These  meml>ers  of  the  church  militant  frequently 
met  here  to  partake  of  his  hospitality.  Mr.  Gil- 
dersleeve  was  fond  of  theologians.  He  liked  to 
have  them  discuss  polemics,  —  mooted  points  of 
doctrine  and  faith.  It  amused  him. 

"  Walk  right  in,  Father  Titus,"  continued  Mr. 
Gilderslceve.  "  You  are  acquainted  with  my  cler 
ical  friends,  I  believe." 

The  priest  bowed  and  shook  hands  with  the 
reverend  gentlemen.  His  sleek,  unctuous  coun 
tenance  lighted  up  with  a  pleasant  and  agreeable 
smile  His  eye,  black  and  piercing,  had  at  times 
a  certain  sly  look  that  might  mean  simply  good- 
humor  or  craftiness. 

He  was  soft  and  glib  of  speech,  with  a  persua 
sive  air  that  almost  of  itself  carried  conviction  to 
what  he  uttered. 

Father  Titus  was  on  exceedingly  friendly  terms 
with  the  Gildersleeve  family.  Little,  however, 
did  Gertrude's  parents  imagine  the  real  objects 
which  drew  Father  Titus  so  frequently  to  the 
Beacon  Hill  mansion. 

Gertrude  herself  might  have  enlightened  them 
had  she  chosen  to  do  so. 

Momentous  was  to  be  the  consequences  of  her 
reticence ! 


DINIXG    AND    WIMN(J    ON    BEACON    HILL.       105 

Oh  !  If  she  could  only  have  had  a  glimpse  into 
the  future  ! 

Oh  !  If  she  could  only  have  read  Father  Titus's 
secret  heart ! 

"  Happy  to  meet  you,  gentlemen,"  said  Father 
Titus,  seating  himself  at  the  table. 

The  cloth  had  been  removed  with  the  remains 
of  the  dinner.  Rich  cut-glass  decanters,  con 
taining  wines  of  various  kinds,  now  glistened  on 
the  bright  mahogany. 

The  only  attendant  present  was  Sambo,  who 
stood  behind  his  master's  chair. 

His  chief  functions  consisted  in  passing  the 
liquors,  or  knocking  off  the  heads  of  Champagne 
bottles. 

:f  You  should  have  happened  in  earlier,  Father," 
said  Mr.  Cecil. 

"  Yes,  with,  you  our  dinner-party  would  have 
been  complete,"  said  Mr.  Poindexter. 

The  priest  waved  his  hand  with  a  graceful 
gesture. 

"  Ah  !  gentlemen,  I  am  unhappily  undergoing 
a  penance  to-day,  which  obliges  me  to  dispense 
with  food  for  twenty-four  hours,"  he  said,  with  a 
serio-comic  expression,  which  elicited  a  general 
laugh. 

"  But  your  prohibition  does  not  extend  to 
drink?"  said  Mr.  Onslaught. 


166  THE    GILDE11SLEEVES   AT    HOME. 

"Happily,  no,"  said  the  priest. 

"What  will  you  have  then,  Father  Titus?" 
said  Mr.  Gildersleeve.  "  Claret,  Port,  Cham 
pagne?  Or  there  is  some  particularly  fine  old 
Qtard  at  your  elbow." 

Sambo,  ever  on  the  alert,  had  started  to  pass 
either  decanter,  but  the  priest  settled  the  matter 
by  taking  the  brandy. 

He  poured  out  a  liberal  quantity,  and  raising 
his  glass,  said  politely, — 

"  My  regards,  gentlemen.  May  your  shadows 
never  be  less." 

Toasts  to  each  other  now  rapidly  followed, 
Father  Titus  having  set  the  ball  once  in  motion. 

All  dignity  was  soon  forgotten.  Hilarity  be 
came  the  order  of  the  day. 

Those  men,  claiming  to  represent  the  culture 
and  refinement  of  Boston,  drank  until  all  sense  of 
propriety  was  lost. 

Discussion,  song,  and  story  succeeded. 

Father  Titus  alone  retained  the  full  possession 
of  his  faculties.  Seeming  to  drink  each  toast 
offered,  he  adroitly  concealed  the  fact  that  his 
glass  was  empty  as  he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

No  one  observed  this  manoeuvre  but  the  watch 
ful  Sambo. 

The  priest  accordingly  rose  in  the  negro's  esti 
mation. 


DINING   AND    WINING   ON   BEACON   HILL.       167 

Sambo,  however,  did  not  know  what  a  severe 
effort  was  required  on  Father  Titus's  part  to  with 
stand  the  temptation  to  indulge . 

The  priest  was  of  the  flesh,  fleshly. 

He  loved  wine,  but  not  in  the  apostolic  sense. 

In  the  security  of  his  own  parsonage,  and  sur 
rounded  by  his  own  cronies,  he  dared  to  give  loose 
rein  to  his  propensity. 

But  he  was  too  cautious  to  lose  his  mental 
balance  in  the  presence  of  such  a  company  as 
this. 

Besides,  he  had  duties  yet  to  perform,  and  a 
project  of  great  moment  to  further,  and  these 
demanded  a  clear  brain. 

"I  perceive,  Mr.  Gildersleeve,"  said  the  pon 
derous  Poindexter,  talking  rather  thick,  "  that  we 
are  pretty  well  represented  here  in  a  denomina 
tional  sense." 

''Ah,  yes,"  said  the  host.  "I  think  I  compre 
hend  what  you  mean,  brother  Poindexter." 

It  is  altogether  too  problematical  a  question  to 
decide  whether  Mr.  Gildersleeve  did  comprehend 
or  not.  He  was  hardly  in  a  condition,  physically 
or  mentally,  to  see  anything  very  clearly. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Poindexter.  "  Here  we  have 
three  of  the  leading  sects, — the  Liberal,  the 
Catholic,  and  —  and  —  and — " 

"  Come  now,  friend  Poiiidexter,"  interposed  Mr. 


168  THE   GILDERSLEEVES   AT  HOME. 

Onslaught,  "yon  are  getting  a  stage  beyond  me. 
You  not  only  see  double,  but  thribble!  Take 
another  glass  of  this  excellent  Madeira,  and  then 
tell  me  where  is  your  third  representative  ?  " 

"  Probably  our  friend  refers  to  Sambo  yonder," 
said  the  mild  Mr.  Cecil.  "Did  not  our  good  host 
tell  us  that  Sambo  was  a  preacher  of  the  Ortho 
dox  persuasion  before  he  escaped  from  slavery  at 
the  South?" 

"Thank  you,  brother  Cecil/'  said  Poindexter. 
"Yes,  Orthodox — that  was  the  term  I  was  in 
search  of.  Sambo," — turning  to  the  darky,  and 
bending  a  severe  glance  on  him,  — "  are  you  not  a 
preacher  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  nuffin'  'bout  preachin'  Marsa," 
answered  'Sambo,  in  some  trepidation.  "  Used 
ter  talk  ter  de  colored  folks  in  de  camp-mcetiir 
sometimes,  down  yar !" 

And  Sambo  pointed  to  the  floor,  meaning 
thereby  to  indicate  the  Southern  point  of  the 
compass. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Poindexter,  still  more 
severely.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have 
preached  down  there?"  And  the  divine  repented 
Sambo's  gesture,  impressively.  "  I  was  not  aware 
that  preaching  was  allowed  '  down  tliereS  I  have 
been  given  to  understand  that  the  potentate  who 
is  popularly  supposed  to  govern  those  regions  is 


DINING    AND    WINING    ON    BEACON    HILL.       169 

decidedly  averse  to  preaching  of  any  kind."     A 
burst  of  laughter  followed  this  equivoque. 

"  'Clare  ter  gracious,  Mars'  Ponduckster,"  said 
the  bewildered  Sambo,  "  I  'se  dun  no  what  yer 
mean.  It 's  de  Gospel  troof  dat  I  has  talked 
'iigion  at  de  camp-meetin's  doun  Souf." 

"  Down  South?  Oh  !  "  said  Mr.  Poindexter,  at 
which  they  all  laughed  again.  "  Well,  that  fact 
being  established,  Sambo,  are  you  an  Orthodox?" 

"  Yah  !  yah  !  Marsa  !  Coorse  I  'in  a  Xorfidox," 
said  Sambo,  showing  all  his  ivory. 

"  Well,  and  why  are  you  an  Orthodox  in  belief, 
Sambo?"  pursued  Mr.  Poindexter,  pouring  out  a 
glass  of  wine  and  slowly  sipping  it. 

"Wai,  I  dunno  'zockly,  Marsa!"  returned 
Sambo,  who  began  to  comprehend  that  they  were 
quizzing  him.  "Yer  see  I  was  a  slabe  way  down 
in  Ole  Virginny.  All  de  slabes  go  Norf  toward 
de  Norf  star.  All  de  ship  for  de  Norf  dey  go 
Norf — 'cause  why?  'Cause  dar  be  de  Norf  star, 
ob  coorse.  Dat  star  be  de  star  ob  Freedom. 
An'  now  all  de  Freedmen,  dey  be  goin'  Norf  too 
—  gwine  from  Missip,  from  Norf  C'liny  an'  Ole 
Kentuck.  An'  de  ship  dey  come  Norf,  too. 
'Cause  why  ?  Cause  dere  be  light  up  dar.  'Cause 
de  Norf  has  de  best  docks.  De  safes'  docks  for 
de  runaway  slabe  use  ter  be  de  Norf  docks.  So, 
when  I  leebe  Norfo'k  I  get  board  de  ship  dat 


170  THE    GILDERSLEEVES    AT    HOME. 

steer  for  de  Norf  docks.  And  darfore,  dat  I 
guess  be  de  reason  why  I's  a  Xorfodocks." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  I  think  after  that  very  lucid  exposition,"  said 
Onslaught,  dryly,  "  we  had  better  steer  clear  of  all 
docks  —  even  the  Docks-ology  !  " 

The  laughter  was  long  and  hearty  at  this  theo 
logical  pun. 

"  Let  us  hear  one  of  your  Southern  sermons, 
Sambo,"  said  Mr.  Poindexter. 

"  Ay,  an  echo  from  the  old  Plantation,"  said 
Rev.  Mr.  Onslaught. 

"  Or  a  political  speech,"  said  Mr.  Cecil. 

"  Perhaps  he  might  give  us  his  opinion  of  the 
subject  you  gentlemen  have  been  discussing,"  said 
Father  Titus,  "  namely,  the  substitution  of  science 
for  religion." 

"Let  him  choose  his  own  subject,"  said  Mr. 
Gildersleeve. 

Sambo  protested  that  he  could  not  make  an 
impromptu  speech,  and  begged  to  be  excused. 

"You.  ought,  at  least,  to  defend  your  own  opin 
ions,"  said  Mr.  Onslaught ;  "  you  have  heard  us 
tear  Orthodoxy  to  pieces." 

"Yes,  I  hearn  you  try  to  do  dat,  sah." 

"Oh,  we  did  it,"  remarked  Mr.  Cecil.  "Come 
now,  don't  you  believe  after  what  you  have  heard, 
that  science  is  God,  after  all  ?  " 


DINING   AND   WINING   ON   BEACON    HILL.       171 

The  negro'  shook  his  head. 

"  I  'se  only  a  po'  servant,  heah,''  he  said  ;  "  an' 
twould  n't  do  fo'  me  to  speak  to  gentlemen." 

"  Speak  out,  man,"  cried  Mr.  Gildersleeve, 
slapping  the  negro  on  the  back;  "speak  your 
mind  freely.  Let's  hear  you." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Poindexter,  with  a 
wink  to  his  brethren ;  "  criticise  us  freely,  and 
when  you  are  through  with  us  take  up  Father 
Titus."  And  Mr.  Poindexter  winked  to  that  gen 
tleman,  who  replied  by  drinking  Mr.  Poindex- 
ter's  health. 

"  I  can't  make  no  speech,"  said  Sambo,  turning 
his  honest  face  upon  the  convivial  party  who,  set 
tling  themselves  back  in  their  chairs,  prepared  to 
enjoy  themselves  at  the  poor  ignorant  fellow's 
expense:  "I  hain't  got  no  larnin',  an'  dat  am  de 
troof.  I  don't  know  nuffin'  'bout  your  trans  — 
trans-continentalism,  or  cool  mules  (molecules), 
or  your  —  your  porous  plasters  (protoplasms) 
or  your  vermifuges  (vertebrates).  But  I  knows 
de  Bible,"  Sambo  continued,  warming  up.  "Dat's 
what 's  de  matter,  an'  you  kin  stick  a  pin  dar, 
bredren.  If  I  am  sick  an'  in  trouble,  what  kin 
yer  science  do  fur  me?  If  I's  in  poverty,  will 
yer  science  see  me  froo  de  swamp  ?  No  !  no  ! 
bredren  !  If  I  lose  my  wife  an'  little  chiPren, 
will  science  bring  us  togedder  agi'n?  Will  it 


172  THE    GILDERSLEEVES    AT    HOME. 

gib  do  bressed  hope  dat's  like  de  anchor  to  de 
soul  ?  " 

"Good!     Good!     Hear!     Hear!" 

Sambo  had  now  got  on  firm  ground.  His 
enthusiasm  was  thoroughly  aroused.  He  went 
on  :  — 

""Wha'  did  yer  science  do  fo'  my  people  afore 
de  war?  Did  it  help  'em  tcr  b'ar  de  burdens? 
Did  it  gib  'em  strength  ter  b'ar  de  lash  ?  Did  it 
gib  'em  consolation  in  de  dark  hours?  Did 
science  stan'  by  dere  side  when  dey  war  ready  ter 
drop  workin'  in  de  cotton-fields  an'  de  canebrake  ? 
TVhen  de  saint  die  somebody  stan'  by  him  side. 
Dat's  de  bressed  Lor'  Jesus.  What '11  you  do, 
bredren,  when  you  hab  no  bressed  Jesus  by  you 
side?  Heh?  Will  yer  science  help  yer  to  cross 
de  dark  ribber  ob  death?  No,  sah !  No,  no, 
bredren  !  Yer  knows  better  !  " 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  That  hits  you,  Onslaught !  "  said  Poindexter. 

"  And  you  also,  brother  Poindexter,"  retorted 
Onslaught. 

"  Father  Titus  seems  to  be  a  favorite  with  our 
colored  friend,"  laughed  Mr.  Cecil. 

"  Go  for  Father  Titus,  Sambo  !  Slay  and  spare 
not !  "  said  Mr.  Gildersleeve. 

"  Yes.  No  partiality —  no  partiality  !  "  said  On 
slaught. 


DINING   AND    WINING    ON    BEACON    HILL.       173 

Thus  encouraged,  Sambo  continued  :  — 
"Here's  de  science  dat  I  beliebe  in,"  —  draw 
ing  a  Bible  from  his  pocket.  "  Here  am  de 
science  fo'  trouble  an'  distress.  Ah  !  In  dar  am 
vie  troo  science  dat  will  carry  ycr  ober  de  Jordan 
when  de  billows  roll !  In  dar  is  de  science  dat 
will  bring  de  angels  round  yer  bed,  when  de 
world  am  a  growin'  dark." 
Then  turning  to  the  priest :  — 
"An'  you,  Fader  Titus,  yer  wants  dis  book 
taken  out  ob  de  public  schools,  — out  ob  de  Bos 
ton  schools,  an'  de  Freedman  schools.  An'  not 
on'y  dat,  but  yer  want  ter  break  up  de  schools  — 
all  de  schools.  Take  all  de  larnin'  out  ob  de 
land.  Stop  all  de  people  from  finking  for  dem- 
selves.  Make  'em  all  ignorant  as  dey  am  in  de 
Cat'olic  countries,  whar'  not  one  in  four  know 
how  ter  read  at  all.  Yer  make  yer  people  pray 
ter  de  Virgin  an'  de  saints.  Yer  give  'em  beads 
an'  charms  for  de  Bread  ob  Life." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !     How 's  that,  Father  Titus  ?  " 

Sambo  went  on  after  the  laughter  had  ceased  : 

"  How  can  de  Virgin  Mary  hear  all  dat  pray  to 

her   at   once?     When  she'm  alive,    she  couldn't 

hear  mo'  dan  forty  rods   off.     An'  how  kin  she 

hear  now  when  she  am  dead  dese  eighteen  hund'd 

year?     Jus'  tole  me  dat,  Fader  Titus  !     How  kin 

she  hear  folks  in  Australia,  an'  Africa,  an'  Europe, 


174  THE    GILDKRSLKEVKS    AT    HOME. 

an'  America,  all  a  prayin'  to  her  at  de  same  time  ? 
Yer's  got  de  wrong  science,  Fader  Titus;  yer's 
got  de  wrong  science,  too,  an'  no  mistake." 

"  Good  !     Hit  him  again  !  "  cried  Onslaught. 

"  An'  more  dan  dat,  yer  lot  de  poor  honest  man 
stay  in  Purgatory,  an'  for  a  few  dollars  yer  pray 
de  rich  rumseller  out.  Dat's  de  wrong  science,  I 
tell  yer,  whar  de  man  dat  owns  fo'  or  five  liquor 
saloons  has  de  bes'  seat  in  de  church,  an'  de  po' 
man  sits  down  by  de  do'  or  kneels  on  de  steps 
outside.  Yer  can't  deny  dat,  'cause  it 's  de  troof. 
Money  buys  de  bes'  places  in  yer  Cat'edrals,  an' 
de  best  places  in  hebben  ;  an'  de  rumseller  an'  de 
gamblers  who  hab  plenty  ob  money  ter  spend,  is 
de  big  man  ob  de  crowd.  Stick  a  pin  dar,  bred- 
rcn  !  Nuffin  is  too  good  for  him,  an'  when  he 
dies,  yer  pray  him  out  ob  Purgatory  quicker 'n 
a  dog  could  tree  a  coon.  While  de  poor  man  is 
roasted  an'  tortered  jus'  for  want  ob  a  dollar  !  " 

"Don't  let  up,  Sambo  !  Go  for  the  padre  !  He 
can  stand  it !  " 

"  An'  more  dan  dat,  yer  people  may  drink  an' 
fight  as  dey  please,  an'  when  dey  goes  to  de  con 
fession,  yer  gibs  'em  a  few  prayers  ter  say,  an'  so 
many  beads  ter  count,  an'  dey  am  'solved  till  de 
nex'  time  —  all  forgibben  an'  blotted  out  ob  de 
recordin'  angeVs  book.  One  side  am  de  Trans- 
trans-contincntalists,  dat  beliebe  dat  de  on'y  God 


DINIXQ   AND   WINING    OX   BEACON    HILL.       175 

am  in  de  mollusks  an'  de  clams  an'  de  lobsters. 
De  oder  side,  de  Cat'olics,  dey  drink,  dey  swear, 
dey  gamble,  an'  beliebes  anyt'ing  de  priest  tells 
'um,  an'  goes  ter  Hebbeu  —  ef  dey  on'y  pays 
enough  ! " 

"  A  palpable  hit ,  Father    Titus  !     No    dodging 
that !     Go  on,  Sambo.     Your  head's  level !  " 

f'  I  'm  inos'  froo,  gem'men.  If 't  was  n't  fo'  what 
little  Norfordoxy  dar  am  lef  in  Boston,  den  Boston 
'ud  be  wusser  dan  Sodom  an'  Gomorrah.  Ah ! 
gemmens,  de  saints  dat  yer  all  preach  about,  dey 
mortify  de  deeds  ob  de  flesh.  Now,  how  yer 
mortify  de  flesh  when  yer  smokes  an'  drinks  an' 
dribes  de  fas'  bosses,  an'  do  odder  t'ings  too 
numerous  ter  mention.  Ah  !  Marsrs  !  Yer  '11  all 
hev  ter  give  an  account  ob  yer  wicked  deeds. 
Yer  '11  hev  ter  tell  de  Lor'  how  yer  let  de  wolf 
inter  de  fold,  an'  let  him  eat  up  de  tender  sheep. 
Guess  yer  won't  feel  mighty  peart  when  ole 
Satan  says,  f  Dem  's  mine  !  Dem  men 's  been  doin 
my  work,  an'  libin'  on  my  money.'  An'  de  King 
in  his  Glory  will  say,  '  Depart !  depart  ye  un 
faithful  shepherds.  I  nebber  knew  ye  !  I  don't 
want  nuffin  ter  do  wif  yer.'  Den  dar '11  be  a 
howlin'  an'  a  wailin'  an'  a  gnashin'  ob  teef,  an'  den 
ye  '11  be  a  screamin'  for  de  mountings  to  fall  on 
yer  an'  hide  ye  from  de  face  ob  de  Lor'." 

In  that  speech  Sambo  showed  himself  a  bravo 


176  THE    GILDEltSLEEVES    AT    HOME. 

man.  Bold,  daring,  as  a  lion  at  bay,  standing 
like  a  rock,  in  God-given  defiance  against  Boston's 
intemperance  and  infidelity.  Pitting  his  own 
simple  faith  against  the  culture  of  Harvard  Col 
lege,  until  he  compelled  respect. 

The  assembled  guests  made  a  pretence  of  laugh 
ing  at  this  assault ;  but  at  the  same  moment 
Father  Titus  cried  out  in  electric  tones,  — 

"  TVhat  ails  our  host  ?  See  to  Mr.  Gilder- 
sleeve  ! " 

Mr.  Gildersleeve  had  been  strangely  silent  for 
some  time  past.  Amid  the  general  hilarity  atten 
tion  had  been  abstracted  from  him  ;  but  now  at  the 
priest's  words  his  strange  manner  struck  all  the 
assembled  guests,  who  with  one  accord  sprang  to 
his  assistance.  Mr.  Gildersleeve  made  an  effort 
to  rise  from  his  chair,  but  sank  back  helplessly. 

A  terrible  shiver  seemed  to  pass  over  his  frame. 

His  face  turned  from  white  to  red,  then  to 
purple. 

His  head  fell  back  —  he  gasped  for  breath  — 
his  eyes  took  on  a  rigid,  ghastly  stare. 

"  Some  water  !  Quick,  Sambo  !  "  cried  Mr. 
Cecil. 

Mr.  Gildersleeve  convulsively  grasped  Father 
Titus's  hand  as  if  for  aid,  then  with  a  vain  effort  to 
speak,  sank  buck  senseless. 

With  habitual  presence  of  mind,  Father  Titus 


DINING   AND   WINING  ON   BEACON   HILL.       177 

lifted  the  senseless  form  from  his  chair  and  laid  it 
flat  upon  the  floor. 

"  Good  heavens  I  He  is  dead  I  "  said  Mr.  Poin- 
dexter,  in  an  awestruck  tone. 

"  No,"  said  the  priest,  "  not  dead.  A  stroke  of 
apoplexy,"  he  added,  in  a  whisper.  "  Go  for  a 
doctor,  Sambo  I  Run  as  if  for  your  very  life  !  " 

Then  the  priest,  skilled  in  disease,  directed  the 
others  to  chafe  the  extremities  of  the  unconscious 
man. 

"I  will  go  and  inform  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  and 
her  daughter,"  Father  Titus  said,  and  left  the 
room. 

Too  late,  alas  !  too  late  !     When  the  frightened 
women    reached    the    room  —  long    before    Dr. 
Lancet    could    appear,  —  Augustus    Gildersleeve 
had  breathed  his  last ! 
12 


CHAPTEE   XIV. 

MINNIE'S    TROUBLES. — ON   THE    BRIGHTON    ROAD. 

LET  us  return  to  Minnie  Marston.  To  her  the 
experiences  of  years  had  come  in  a  few  short 
months.  The  light-hearted  girl  fresh  from  the 
New  Hampshire  hills,  full  of  high  hopes,  and  a 
noble  purpose,  ignorant  of  vice  and  unsullied  by- 
thought  or  deed  as  a  saint,  had  been  crushed 
almost  to  the  earth  by  a  cruel,  monstrous  wrong. 
A  hideous  page  of  life  had  been  revealed  to  her 
shrinking  vision.  A  rude  and  savage  blow  had 
dissipated  in  one  moment  the  fairy  dreams  of 
innocent  youth,  and  awakened  her  to  the  stern 
realities  of  existence.  To  its  sorrow,  its  suffer 
ing,  its  sin,  and  its  shame.  Only  God  and  her 
own  heart  knew  the  torturing,  agonizing  wretched 
ness  which  was  now  her  daily  and  nightly  portion. 
It  seemed  at  times  as  if  she  must  go  mad  with  the 
secret  weight  of  her  wrongs,  unshared  by  a  sym 
pathizing  breast. 

"Oh,  mother,  dearest  mother,"  she  would  in 
wardly  cry.  "  If  I  could  lay  my  head  upon  your 
bosom  and  whisper  in  your  ear  the  story  of  my 


ON   THE   BRIGHTON   I?OAD.  179 

grief,  you  would  give  me  comfort ;  you  would 
calm  and  soothe  my  troubled  soul !  Oh  !  How  I 
remember,  now,  the  countless  times  when  I  have 
flown  to  you,  dear  mother,  with  my  childish  sor 
rows,  how  you  would  hush  me  in  your  arms  and 
kiss  my  tears  away,  and  I  would  fall  asleep 
clasped  closely  to  your  loving  breast.  Oh  !  heav 
enly  Father !  help  me  to  bear  this  terrible  cross  ! 
Sustain  me  in  this  bitter,  bitter  trial,  or  my  heart 
will  burst !  " 

But  to  no  living  soul  did  the  poor  girl  think 
of  breathing  a  word  of  that  which  oppressed  her. 
She  had  promised  the  graceless  scoundrel  who 
had  compassed  her  ruin,  never  to  betray  him. 
Despite  the  misery  he  had  inflicted  on  her,  she 
loved  him  with  the  purest,  the  strongest  devotion 
of  a  woman's  nature.  Her  love  constantly  pleaded 
for  him,  blinding  reason  and  judgment  to  the 
enormity  of  his  crime  and  the  glaring  faults  of  his 
character.  She  had  pardoned  and  forgiven  him 
out  of  the  very  abundance  of  that  love,  and  noth 
ing  would  have  induced  her  to  violate  the  pledge 
she  had  given  him. 

Would  Frank  Gildersleeve  be  as  true  to  his 
word  ?  Would  he  retrieve  or  repair  the  grievous 
wrong  he  had  done  her  and  make  her  his  wifo? 
She  could  not,  dared  not  question  his  truth  and 
fidelity.  To  have  done  so,  poor  Minnie  felt  would 


180  MINNIE'S  TROUBLES. 

be  to  drive  her  to  madness.  The  very  thought 
was  desperation,  and  she  would  not  entertain  it 
for  a  moment. 

Two  months  had  gone  by  and  still  Frank  Gil- 
dersleeve  evaded  his  promise.  Whenever  the 
subject  was  mooted  he  had  pat  her  off  with  vari 
ous  ingenious  reasons  and  excuses,  in  which  she 
was  forced  to  acquiesce. 

"Do  not  feel  any  anxiety,  dear  Minnie,"  he 
would  say  coaxingly.  "  You  know  I  love  you 
above  everything  else  in  the  world.  The  happiest 
moment  of  my  life  will  be  when  I  can  call  you  my 
own  dear,  little  wife,  and  that  shall  be  very  soon. 
I  am  making  every  effort  to  hasten  the  day,  you 
may  rest  assured,  my  dearest." 

But  Minnie  grew  pale  and  thin  under  this  hope 
deferred.  Frank  frequently  surprised  her  in 
tears. 

The  gay  and  happy  spirits  which  had  never 
been  darkened  by  a  care  entirely  forsook  her. 
Her  sweet  blue  eyes  grew  dim  with  secret  weep 
ing,  and  her  countenance  wore  an  expression  of 
plaintive  melancholy  inexpressibly  sad  and  touch 
ing.  Her  step  grew  slow  and  languid,  and  there 
came  many  a  day  when  she  was  compelled  to  ask 
the  indulgence  of  her  employers  to  excuse  her 
from  attendance  at  the  store. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  common-sense  ails  you, 


ON   THE   BRIGHTON  ROAD.  181 

Minnie?"  Maggie  Watson  asked  her  one  day. 
"  I  declare,  I  don't  believe  city  air  agrees  with 
you,  dear.  You  are  pining  for  green  fields  and 
daisies  and  buttercups,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
you  country  girls  make  so  much  of.  Of  course 
you  haven't  gone  and  fallen  in  love  with  that 
young  swell,  Frank  Gilderslceve !  Why,  how 
you  blush !  There  dear,  I  did  n't  mean  to  say 
anything  to  touch  you  up  so !  I  declare  I  do 
believe  it 's  more  serious  than  a  flirtation  after  all ! 
And  I'll  just  give  that  young  jackanapes  a 
broad  hint  the  next  time  I  see  him.  If  he  means 
business  and  wants  to  marry  you,  it 's  all  right. 
If  he 's  only  flirting  and  fooling  you,  I  '11  give  him 
a  piece  of  my  mind  that'll  send  him  about  his 
business  in  short  order,  that  I  will !  " 

Minnie  grasped  the  arm  of  her  impulsive  and 
voluble,  but  well-meaning  friend,  her  face  turning 
deadly  white. 

"  Oh !  Maggie,"  she  cried,  "  if  you  love  me, 
promise  that  you  will  never  mention  such  a  thing 
to  Mr.  Gildersleeve  !  I  beg,  I  implore  you  not  to 
do  so  !  You  are  mistaken,  utterly  mistaken." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Maggie  dubi 
ously  to  herself;  but  she  gave  the  required 
promise. 

It  was  early  on  that  same  afternoon  that  Frank 
Gildersleeve  called  at  Minnie's  boarding-house. 


182  MINNIL'S    TUOUiiLES. 

She  came  down  into  the  parlor,  a  flush  of  pleasure 
lighting  up  her  sweet,  sad  face  as  she  beheld  him  ; 
for  Frank  had  been  somewhat  remiss  in  his  atten 
tions  of  late.  His  heart  smote  him  as  he  noted 
her  sad,  reproachful  look. 

"  I  have  been  so  busy  lately,  dearest,"  he  said, 
apologetically,  "  that  I  have  had  hardly  a  moment 
to  myself.  But  run  and  put  on  your  things, 
Minnie.  A  friend  of  mine  has  loaned  me  a  splen 
did  team  for  the  afternoon.  A  drive  this  bright 
September  day  will  do  you  a  world  of  good. 
You  are  getting  dumpish  at  that  confounded 
store  !  I  wish  you  would  listen  to  me,  dearest. 
Give  up  the  store  and  rely  entirely  on  me  to 
supply  your  needs." 

"Frank,"  said  the  young  girl  with  quiet  firm 
ness,  "  when  you  are  ready  to  redeem  your 
promise  and  marry  me,  as  you  have  sworn  to  do, 
then  and  not  till  then  will  I  look  to  you  for  my 
support.  Until  that  time  I  shall  continue  to  rely 
solely  on  my  own  resources,  unless  —  " 

"  Unless  what  ?  "  demanded  the  young  man  as 
her  voice  faltered  and  broke. 

"  Unless  Heaven  hears  my  prayers  and  takes 
me  from  this  wicked  world  !  Oh  !  Frank  !  "  she 
added  with  an  uncontrollable  burst  of  anguish, 
"  I  cannot,  cannot  bear  this  awful  load  of  misery. 
I  cannot  live  as  I  have  lived  for  two  months  past ! 
My  heart  is  surely  breaking  !  " 


ON   THE   BIUGIITON   KOAD.  185 

"  There  —  there,  my  darling,"  said  her  lover, 
visibly  disturbed,  and  dreading  that  she  might  be 
overheard  by  some  of  the  inmates  of  the  house. 
"  Go  get  your  things  and  we  '11  have  a  good  spin 
out  on  the  road  that  will  brace  you  up  and  drive 
away  this  fit  of  blues." 

Since  his  father's  death,  Frank  Gildersleeve, 
with  a  greater  command  of  money  than  during  the 
former's  lifetime,  had  launched  freely  out  upon 
the  turbid  sea  of  dissipation.  He  had  taken 
lately  to  horse-flesh,  and  the  pair  of  handsome 
thoroughbred^  attached  to  the  light  road-wagon 
standing  before  the  door  was  his  latest  purchase  in 
that  line. 

It  was  a  racing-day,  and  the  young  rake's 
vanity  had  induced  him  to  show  off  his  stylish 
turnout  and  the  prettiest  girl  in  Boston  —  as  he 
very  justly  termed  Minnie  —  on  the  Beacon  Park 
Road,  which  he  knew  would  be  lined  with  the 
equipages  of  the  "  fast  and  fancy"  of  Boston. 

"  Why  are  there  so  many  vehicles  out  to-day, 
Frank?"  Minnie  asked  as  they  dashed  along, 
giving  the  dust  to  many  a  fast  trotter.  "  And  why 
does  everybody  stare  so  at  us  ? ' 

Frank  replied  to  her  last  question  with  a  smile 
at  her  ingenuousness,  — 

"Why,  they  are  looking  at  you,  my  dear." 

"At  me!" 


184  MINNIK'S  TROUBLES. 

"  Certainly  !  Your  cheeks  are  ruddy  as  a  rose. 
Your  eyes  sparkle  with  something  of  their  old- 
time  lustre,  and  altogether,  my  love,  you  look 
just  as  pretty  as  a  picture." 

The  blush  on  the  young  girl's  cheek  deepened 
at  this  praise  from  her  lover.  It  was  indeed  as 
Frank  had  asserted.  All  eyes  were  attracted  to 
the  lovely  girl.  And  even  Frank's  magnificent 
bays  elicited  less  remark  than  the  bright  eyes 
and  charming  countenance  of  his  youthful  com 
panion. 

"  Jerusalem  !  "  exclaimed  Harry  Waters,  who, 
in  company  with  a  flashily  dressed  young  woman, 
had  seen  Frank's  team  with  its  occupants  fly  by 
his  own.  "  Wonder  where  the  deuce  Frank 
picked  up  that  pretty  piece  of  femininity !  By 
Jove  !  A  little  beauty,  Meg,  is  n't  she  though  ! 
So  Frank  wouldn't  turn  his  head,  though  of 
course  h»  saw  us  I  Aha  !  my  boy ;  you  want  to 
keep  shady,  not  recognize  old  friends  for  fear 
perhaps  your  little  Puritan  might  ask  annoying 
questions.  All  right!  I'm  not  the  boy  to  spoil 
sport.  There 's  nothing  sneaking  about  me  !  Eh, 
Meg?" 

Meanwhile  Frank  and  Minnie  drew  near  the 
gates  of  Beacon  Park,  through  which  a  long  string 
of  carriages  were  filing,  while  throngs  of  people 
of  both  sexes  were  hurrying  along  on  foot. 


OX    THE    BRIGHTON    ROAD.  185 

w  Confess  now,  my  dear,  that  you  feel  already 
like  a  new  being.  Is  it  not  so,  dear?"  said  Frank. 

Minnie  could  not  but  acknowledge  the  truth  of 
what  he  had  said.  The  excitement  had,  indeed, 
lent  her  a  temporary  strength  and  imparted  a 
glow  to  her  whole  frame.  Her  mind,  too,  was, 
for  the  time  being,  more  at  ease  than  it  had  been 
for  many  a  long  day. 

"What  is  this  place,  Frank?  Surely  you  are 
not  going  in  here  ?  " 

Minnie  had  clutched  his  arm  in  her  surprise  as 
Frank  turned  the  heads  of  his  horses  toward  the 
gate. 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  an  exhibition  of  horse- 
speed,  my  pet?  " 

"  What !  You  mean  a  horse-race  ! "  ejaculated 
Minnie. 

"Well,  yes,  if  you  choose  to  call  it  so.  Come, 
now,  dear,  I  Avant  to  treat  you  to  a  new  and  de 
lightful  experience,  Minnie.  You  do  not  object, 
surely  ?  " 

"But  —  a  horse-race  ! ''  said  Minnie.  "Oh!  I 
could  not  go,  Frank." 

"  Why,  you  do  not  think  I  would  take  you  to  a 
disreputable  place,  Minnie?" 

"  But,  Frank,  I  Ve  always  thought  respectable 
people  did  not  go  to  horse-races." 

"  llespectable  people  !      Look    about  you,    niy 

i 


180  MINNIE'S  TROUBLES. 

love  !  "  They  had  by  this  time  parsed  through 
the  gates.  "  Why,  here  are  the  most  respectable 
of  Boston's  society,  the  creme  de  la  creme,  the 
very  bluest  of  Boston  blue-blood.  And  that,  you 
know,  is  a  shade  of  perfection  no  other  social 
grade  in  the  United  States  can  ever  hope  to  attain. 
And,"  he  added,  mockingly,  to  himself,  "  I  ought 
to  know,  since  I  have  the  honor  of  belonging  to 
the  sacred  caste  myself." 

"  But  they  bet  and  gamble  at  horse-races  ?  "  pur 
sued  Minnie. 

"Not  in  Boston,  my  dear,  under  the  new  dis 
pensation,"  said  Frank,  ironically.  "  Xo  gambling 
of  any  kind  is  allowed  in  the  city  of  the  Puritans. 
You  do  not  read  the  newspapers,  or  you  would 
not  be  so  lamentably  ignorant  on  such  points. 
Why,  the  chief  commissioner  of  the  Boston  police 
is  at  the  head  of  this  innocent  little  diversion 
which  you  vulgarly  and  alarmingly  term  a  horse- 
7  ace.  The  days  of  horse-racing,  as  such,  are  over 
in  Boston  —  over  forever!  Here,  my  dear,  read 
this  advertisement." 

Frank  took  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket,  and 
indicating  a  four  or  five  square  advertisement, 
handed  it  to  Minnie.  She  read,  in  large  capi 
tals,  the  announcement  that  the  Boston  Drivino- 

O 

and  Athletic  Association  offered  a  series   of  "  en 
tertainments  and  exhibitions  of  horse-speed,"   at 


ON    THE    BRIGHTON    ROAD.  187 

which,  it  was  conspicuously  and  emphatically 
stated,  no  betting  or  gambling  of  any  kind  would 
be  tolerated  or  allowed. 

wls  it  not  perfectly  harmless,  Minnie?"  asked 
Frank,  returning  the  newspaper  to  his  pocket. 

"Indeed,  Frank,  I  do  not  see  how  any  excep 
tion  can  be  taken  to  a  mere  exhibition  of  this 
description.  It  seems  very  simiLir  to  the  exhibi 
tions  at  our  agricultural  fairs  up  in  New  Hamp 
shire." 

w  Precisely,  Minnie.  And  now  I  will  drive 
down  to  the  Grand  Stand,  and  secure  seats,  and 
then  put  the  team  up  in  the  stables." 


CHAPTER  XY. 

IN    THE    GRAND     STAND. JERKS     AND     SLIPPERS     ON 

TROTTING   PARKS. 

THE  Grand  Stand,  as  Frank  and  Minnie  took 
their  scats,  presented  a  scene  gorgeous  with  color, 
mid  animated  by  bright  eyes,  laughing  lips,  the 
flutter  of  gay  ribbons  and  silken  tresses  wantonly 
playing  in  the  breeze.  A  band  stationed  in  one 
end  of  the  Grand  Stand  discoursed  soul-thrilling 
music.  The  champing  of  bits,  the  tread  of  many 
feet,  and  the  confused  din  and  murmur  of  the  large 
and  surging  crowd,  lent  an.  excitement  to  the 
scene  that  stirred  the  senses  and  quickened  the 
heart-beats  of  every  beholder. 

It  was  a  scene  and  a  sensation  never  to  be  for 
gotten  by  one  experiencing  it  for  the  first  time. 
And  Minnie  Marston,  for  once  in  long  and  weary 
weeks,  threw  off  the  secret  cares  and  anxieties 
that  were  gnawing  at  her  heart-strings,  to  revel 
in  the  novel  and  constantly  shifting  changes  of  the 
brilliant  and  bewildering  spectacle. 

It  was  the  most  exciting  race  of  the  season. 
The  largest  attendance.  An  "  eminently  respect- 


JERKS    AND   SLIPPERS   ON   TROTTING    PARKS.    189 

able "  gathering,  containing  the  elite  of  Boston 
society.  The  Grand  Stand  was  filled  with  ladies, 
laughing  and  discussing  the  merits  of  the  con 
tending  steeds.  Old  men,  young  boys,  the  coun 
try  bumpkin,  with  "his  sisters  and  his  cousins 
and  his  aunts."  The  smart  clerk,  jauntily  dressed, 
cigar  in  mouth  and  score-book  in  hand.  All  with 
strained  nerves,  sparkling  eyes,  and  eager  faces. 

Now  the  excitement  of  the  day  reaches  its  cul 
minating  point.  There  is  a  perfect  Babel  of 
sounds  and  cries  as  the  starter's  bell  rings.  The 
ladies  clap  their  hands  and  cry, — 

"  Oh  !  Is  n't  it  just  lovely  ?  What  a  splendid 
sight !  What  beautiful  horses  !  Oh  !  Give  me 
a  horse  race  before  anything  else  in  the  world. 
It 's  too  awfully  jolly  for  anything  !  " 

The  racing  begins. 

"  Go  !  "  shouts  the  starter. 

And  the  horses  are  off  like  the  wind. 

"  Hi !  Yi !  There  they  go  !  Alley  's  ahead  ! 
Go  it,  Einmons !  Bully  for  the  brown  mare ! 
Now  she  's  going  it !  Now  for  the  home-stretch. 
Hi !  Yi !  hip  !  hip  !  hurrah  !  " 

Fast  and  furious  grows  the  tumult. 

'  Two  to  one  on  Foxie  !  "  "  Here  you  are  ! '' 
"  Fifteen  to  ten  on  the  chestnut !  "  "  That 's  my 
bet!"  "A  hundred  to  twenty-five  on  the  stal 
lion  !  "  "  I  take  the  odds  !  "  "  Five  hundred  to 


190  IN   THE    GRAND   STAND. 

three  on  the  brown  mare  ! "  "  Done  for  a  thou 
sand  !  " 

Such  were  the  Bedlam  shouts,  such  the  mad 
mania  of  the  horse-race. 

"  What  are  those  men  doing  down  there  ? " 
asked  Minnie  of  Frank,  pointing  to  several  groups 
of  men  huddled  together  in  the  space  in  front  of 
the  Grand  Stand.  They  were  waving  their  arms, 
and  shouting  and  yelling  like  maniacs. 

"  Oh !  fhey  are  merely  excited,  that  's  all," 
said  Frank,  nonchalantly.  r  But  will  you  excuse 
me  for  a  moment,  Minnie,  while  I  go  down  and 
get  a  cigar?  You  are  perfectly  safe  here,  sur 
rounded  by  all  these  ladies.  You  will  not  be 
nervous  if  I  leave  you,  only  for  a  few  minutes?" 

Minnie  did  not  like  to  express  her  real  distaste 
for  being  deserted  even  for  a  moment  in  such  a 
strange  place.  So  she  merely  said,  — 

"Do  not  be  long,  please."  And  Frank,  who 
had  been  anxious  for  some  time  for  an  excuse  to 
go  below,  departed. 

He  had  seen  Dr.  Forceps,  Harry  Waters,  and 
several  of  his  acquaintance  in  the  excited  throng, 
and  was  burning  to  join  them. 

"  Hallo,  Frank,  old  fellow  !  "  said  Harry  Waters, 
as  the  former  elbowed  his  way  toward  him.  "  Are 
you  making  up  a  book  on  the  race  ?  " 

rfXot  yet,  but  I've  been  on  tenter-hooks  this 
half-hour  to  get  down  among  you." 


JERKS    AND    SLIPPERS    ON    TROTTING    PARKS.     191 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand,"  replied  Waters,  with 
n  knowing  wink  up  toward  the  Grand  Stand. 
"Say,  my  boy,  who  is  the  little  beauty?  I've 
been  trying  to  pump  your  friend  the  doctor  here, 
but  he 's  as  mum  as  an  oyster ;  won't  cackle  no 
more  'n  a  dumb  rooster.  Says  he  don't  know 
her." 

"  And  that 's  true  enough,"  answered  Frank, 
with  a  side  glance  at  Forceps. 

"  All  right,  my  boy,"  said  Waters,  indifferently. 
"  A  hint  is  as  good  as  a  kick  to  a  blind  horse. 
I  'm  neither  meddler  nor  marplot,  and  don't  Avant 
to  know  any  more  than  you  wish  to  tell  me.  But 
here  comes  the  nags.  See  them  pull  for  the  Jast 
quarter!  Hi!  Yi !  " 

Could  Minnie  Marston  have  seen  from  her 
somewhat  remote  'situation  exactly  what  was  tak 
ing  place  among  those  excited  crowds  on  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  Grand  Stand,  she  would 
have  comprehended  what  a  hollow  and  ridiculous 
farce  that  high-toned  and  moral  announcement 
was  which  she  had  read  in  the  advertisement  of 
the  races. 

No  betting  !     No  gambling  forsooth  ! 

As  if  there  was  ever  a  horse-race  or  a  boat-race, 
or  any  public  trial  of  speed  or  endurance,  on  the . 
result  of  which  money  was  not  staked  ! 

True,  there  was  no  visible  pool-selling  on  the 


192  IX    THE    GKAXD    STAXD. 

grounds.  But  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  dollars  were  openly  put  up  on  every  race  and 
heat  trotted  that  day ;  put  up  in  the  hands  of 
volunteer  stakeholders,  who  undoubtedly  claimed 
and  were  allowed  their  regular  commissions  on 
each  and  every  event  that  transpired. 

And  all  the  while,  Boston  policemen  standing 
by,  sworn  and  paid  to  enforce  the  law,  themselves 
interested  and  even  excited  witnesses  of  its  fla 
grant  and  barefaced  violation ! 

The  crowd  flocking  around  the  bar  where  liquors 
were  sold  was  enormous.  Eight  attendants  had 
all  they  could  do  to  supply  the  demand.  Among 
the  heaviest  drinkers  was  Frank  Gildersleeve. 
Coming  out  into  the  open  air  after  a  deep  potation, 
he  stumbled  across  Jonathan  Jerks. 

"Hallo,  Jerks,  how  are  yo'u?"  said  Frank, 
greeting  Jonathan  cordially.  "  \V"hat  are  you 
doing  out  here,  eh?  Going  to  turn  your  crank 
of  reform  on  to  horse-racing?" 

"Wai,  shouldn't  wonder  ef  I  did,"  returned 
Jonathan,  jerking  his  head  and  twitching  his  eyes 
in  his  usual  manner.  "Guess  this  'ere  trotting 
park  needs  a  leetle  crank  business,  eh?" 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Frank,  gayly,  "I  think 
you  '11  have  to  turn  the  crank  a  long  while  before 
you  could  stop  this  most  respectable  '  moral 
exhibition.' 


JERKS  AND  SLIPPERS  ON  TROTTING  PAUKS.  193 

"  What !  "  cried  Frank,  suddenly  recognizing 
some  one  approaching.  "  Why,  I  declare  if  there 
is  n't  our  old  friend,  the  superb  and  incomparable 
f  Eye-glass  Slippers ' ! " 

"  Hullo  !  Great  Scott !  ef  that  ain't  Slippers 
arter  all !  "  exclaimed  Jonathan,  stopping  short 
and  gazing  at  the  exquisite  with  suppressed  amaze 
ment.  "  Wai !  wal !  What  in  the  dickens  has 
brought  him  back  ter  this  tarnation  country? 
Gosh  !  perhaps  he 's  a-goin'  ter  show  our  c  dood 
thothiety '  what 's  what !  " 

Jerks,  with  a  twist  of  the  head  and  roll  of  the 
eyes,  chuckled  and  sauntered  up  to  Slippers. 

"Hullo,  old  fel,  how  are  ye?  How  de  du?" 
saluted  Jonathan,  grasping  the  fashionable  snob 
by  the  hand,  and  almost  wringing  it  off  in  his 
brawny  palm.  "  Great  geewhiliky !  my  boy, 
when  did  you  git  back  ?  Wa'  n't  you  rayther 
'fraid  ter  come,  now?  Earth  might  tip  up,  ef 
you  stirred  round  much,  eh?" 

"  Ah-h  !  "  murmured  Slippers,  withdrawing  his 
hand  from  Jerks's  grasp,  a  look  of  agony  on  his 
face.  "  Oh  —  ah  !  how  do,  Mr.  —  a  —  Mr.  Jerth  ? 
Aw  !  I  —  I  am  werwy  glad  to  thee  you." 

He  looked,  indeed,  very  glad.  About  as  glad 
as  if  he  had  met  a  wild  alligator  with  open  jaw 
and  no  way  of  escape  before  him. 

"  Great  gosh  !      So  you  got  back,  eh  !  "  cried 

13 


194  IN   THE    GRAND    STAND. 

Jonathan,  slapping  the  embarrassed  Slippers  gayly 
on  the  back.  "  Thought  you  'd  fetch  over  a  leetle 
'dood  thothicty'  with  you,  eh?  Wai,  that's 
right.  Ef  you  can  save  the  country,  do  it,  by 
hokey !  ef  you  have  ter  bust  off  every  button 
you  Ve  got !  " 

"Aw  !  Mr.  Jerkth,"  simpered  Slippers,  arrang 
ing  the  bouquet  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  "  Aw  ! 
what  —  er —  do  you  think  of  this  beau-tiful,  mag- 
nifique  horth-rathe  ?  " 

"  Think  of  it,"  cried  Jonathan,  scornfully ; 
"why  I  think  it 's  a  pesky  humbug.  The  biggest 
fraud  I  ever  sot  eyes  outer.  Why,  I  thought  this 
'ere  race  was  a-goin'  ter  be  a  high-toned,  moral, 
hifklutin'  horse-race  an'  no  mistake  Why,  great 
Joshua  Pease  !  ef  I  did  n't  think  it  was  ter  be 
a'most  a  camp-meetin',  a  revival  of  all  that  Avas 
good  an'  lovely.  Jes'  look  at  the  papers,  they 
puffed  it  high  sky.  Moral  ?  Why  moral  wa'  n't 
no  name  for  it.  Accordin'  ter  the  ir  rcckonin'  't  was 
a  dozen  times  better  'n  a  prayer-meetin'  an'  a  mill 
ion  times  sweeter  for  the  soul  than  a  hul  cart-load 
of  tracts  an'  a  shovelful  of  mottoes  thrown  in." 

"  Aw  !  but  thith  rathe  ith  patronithed  by  the 
betht  thothiety,"  said  Slippers,  with  a  genteel 
wave  of  the  hand. 

"  Of  course  'tis,"  returned  Jonathan,  winking  at 
Frank,  who  was  an  amused  spectator.  "  Wby, 


JEIiKS    AND    SLTPPEUS    ON    TROTTING   PARKS.    195 

ain't  you  here?  An'  I  rayther  reckon'  you're 
about  as  chock  full  of  respectability  as  they  make 
'em.  Yes,  by  hokey  !  I  believe  you,  my  boy. 
It 's  the  all-firedest  crowd  of  gentility  /  ever  set 
eyes  onter.  — '  Oh  !  ma,  there  ain't  no  gamblin' 
a-goin'  on  at  Beacon  Park.  Can't  I  go,  ma?'  says 
the  young  sprigs.  '  The  papers  say"  Is  o  betting 
allowed."  An'  the  mammas,  who  raally  believe 
the  newspapers  are  like  G.  Washington,  Esq., 
an'  never  tell  a  whopper,  swallow  the  boshwash 
about '  no  gambling '  as  simple  as  a  spring  chicken. 
'Michael,  order  out  the  carriage.  We  are  goin' 
ter  a  highly  moral  horse  exhibition,'  they  say. 
An'  out  trots  the  carriage,  an'  the  high-toned  boys 
an'  gals  come  out  here,  expect! n'  ter  see  a'most  a 
revival  of  religion  —  some  thin'  awful  good  an' 
grand.  I  swan  !  the  idea  of  seein'  a  moral  horse 
race  !  Why,  I  never  heerd  of  sech  a  thing  afore. 
Great  jiminy  !  You  might  as  well  say  a  horse-race 
without  any  swearing,  any  drinkin' ;  I  swow  ef  you 
might  n't ! " 

"  Aw  !  but  private  betting  between  gentlemen," 
interposed  Slippers.  "  Aw !  that  ith  different 
from  vulgar  pool-thelling,  you  know." 

"About  as  much  difference,  my  boy,  as  there 
is  between  twelve  and  a  dozen,"  blurted  out 
Jerks.  "  Sounds  different,  but  the  meaning  ain't 
more  'n  a  mile  an'  a  half  from  each  other,  I  take  it. 


196  IN    THE    GRAND    STAND. 

No  sirree  bob  !  I  tell  you,  bettin'  is  bettin',  no 
matter  how  it's  done  or  who  does  it.  Why, 
tarnation  geewhiliky !  ef  I  hain't  seen  $30,000 
change  hands  on  that  'ere  fust  race,  then  I  did  n't 
see  a  cent,  that's  all.  Gamblin' !  Why  't ain't  no 
name  for  it.  Why,  I  raally  believe  half  the 
blacklegs  in  the  country  are  here  a-gamblin'  like 
all  creation  !  Don't  s'pose  they  come  way  from 
New  York,  Kentucky,  an'  Tennessee  jes'  ter  see 
horses  trot,  du  ye?  Wai,  I  guess  not.  Why,  I 
swan  ter  gracious  !  ef  the  manager  of  the  hul 
thing  ain't  a  reg'lar  professional  gambler  himself. 
Runs  two  of  the  biggest  gamblin'  dens  in  Boston." 

"Aw!  He — he  ith  a  gentleman,"  said  Slip 
pers,  adjusting  his  eye-glass  and  looking  admir 
ingly  at  the  ladies  in  the  Grand  Stand.  "  He  — 
aw  !  thtandth  werwy  well  in  dood  thothiety." 

"Does,  eh,"  said  Jerks,  shaking  his  head. 
"Wai,  all  I  got  ter  say  is,  I  pity  r  dood  thothiety.' 
Boston 's  got  down  mighty  low,  I  can  tell  ye, 
when  reg'lar  gamblers  get  ter  runnin'  a  place  like 
this.  Bosom  friend  of  the  president  of  this  'ere 
association,  I  hear,  too.  An'  he 's  the  head  com 
missioner  of  Boston's  police.  Great  Joshua  !  No 
wonder  the  policemen  stand  around  like  statoos, 
a-doin'  nothin'  but  stare  an'  blink,  as  ef  they 
couldn't  see  the  gamblin'  goin'  on  right  under 
their  very  nose.  I  swan  !  Should  n't  wonder  ef 


JERKS    AND    SLIPPERS    OX    TLOTTING    PARKS. 


their  eyes  was  plastered  by  leetle  bits  of  paper 
with  a  green  back.  It's  a  tarnation  shame  the 
way  they  let  this  barefaced  gamblin'  go  on.  An 
all-fired  shame,  I  swan  ter  goodness  eft  ain't." 

"  Oh  !  doot  thothiety  alloAvth  betting,"  put  in 
Slippers,  in  a  supercilious  tone.  *  There  ith  noth 
ing  dithgratheful  about  that.  The  higheth  gentle 
men  —  the  real  '  blue-blood  '  awithtocrithy  permit 
—  ah  —  playing  for  money." 

"Wai,  sir,  I  jes'  tell  you  what,"  said  Jonathan, 
warmly,  "their  old  dads  wouldn't.  You  can  bet 
on  that,  sure  as  fate.  The  old  Puritans  would 
kick  ag'in  it  like  all  creation.  Great  gosh  !  more 
I  see  about  f  dood  thothiety,'  the  more  I  'm  struck 
whack  with  the  fact  that  it  means  '  bad  society,'  I 
swan  ef  it  don't." 

And  Jonathan,  winking  in  a  mysterious  way  at 
Slippers,  put  his  hands  in  his  pocket,  and  nodding 
to  Frank,  sauntered  away. 


All  this  while  Minnie  was  in  the  Grand  Stand, 
waiting  Frank's  return. 

"  Where  can  he  have  gone?"  she  said  anxiously, 
as  an  hour  passed  and  he  did  not  appear. 

The  poor  girl  was  getting  weary  and  uneasy  at 
the  noise  and  confusion  all  about  her.  Xow  that 
the  first  novelty  of  the  scene  had  worn  off,  she 
felt  a  growing  and  increasing  distress.  The  reac- 


198  IX    THE    GRAND    STAND. 

tion  from  the  unnatural  excitement  was  already 
having  its  due  effect.  Her  head  ached,  her  limbs 
were  full  of  tremors. 

Suddenly  Minnie  became  conscious  that  she  was 
the  object  of  a  free  and  impertinent  regard  on  tin- 
part  of  two  or  three  dissolute  and  rakish-looking 
men,  all  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  They  had 
observed  that  she  appeared  to  be  alone  ;  and  with 
the  blackguardism  which  distinguishes  this  class 

O  O 

of  human  ghouls  and  vampires  who  of  late  years 
infest  Boston's  public  places,  one  of  them  had 
seated  himself  in  the  place  vacated  by  Frank. 
He  even  attempted  to  open  a  conversation  with 
the  now  thoroughly  frightened  girl.  Minnie 
turned  resolutely  away  at  the  sight  of  his  evil- 
looking  countenance. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  take  it  more  friendly,  my 
dear,"  whispered  the  fellow,  coarsely,  and  moving 
still  closer  toward  the  shrinking  girl. 

Several  gentlemen  simultaneously  sprang  to 
Minnie's  aid  at  that  moment ;  but  one  was  before 
them  all,  —  a  young  man,  scarcely  more  than 
twenty-one,  whose  dress  bespoke  him  the  gentle 
man,  but  whose  flushed  face  and  reeking  breath 
denoted  that  he  was  strongly  under  the  influence 
of  liquor. 

Sobered  partially  by  what  he  had  just  witnessed, 
the  young  man  leaped  down  the  aisle.  In  an  in- 


JERKS    AND    SLIPPERS    ON    TROTTING    PARKS.     199 

stunt  ho  was  confronting  the  miscreant.  In  an 
other,  his  arm  was  drawn  back,  then  shot  out  with 
the  force  of  a  catapult,  and  Minnie's  persecutor 
went  headlong  down  upon  the  rough  floor. 
Shout  after  shout  went  up  from  the  men  and 
even  ladies  who  had  witnessed  the  scene. 

Minnie  impetuously  flung  herself  into  the  arms 
of  her  protector,  clinging  to  him  and  sobbing  upon 
his  breast,  while  she  murmured,  — 

"Oh!  Frank!  Frank!  Take  me  away  from 
here  !  Take  me  from  this  terrible  place  ! " 

Frank  Gilderslceve  —  for  it  was  he  —  hastened 
to  soothe  the  terrified  girl,  and  followed  by  three 
or  four  gentlemen,  Avho  had  placed  themselves 
between  him  and  the  infuriated  ruffian  who  had 
now  risen  to  his  feet  and  was  shaking  his  fist  in 
impotent  rage  at  the  young  fellow,  reached  the 
door. 

A  police  officer  had  by  this  time  taken  the 
blackguard  into  custody. 

"Your  name,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said  the  offi 
cer  to  Frank.  "  I  see  how  the  case  stands,  but  I 
shall  want  you  as  a  witness  against  this  fellow." 

But  Frank  had  good  reasons  for  not  wishing  his 
name  to  appear  in  connection  with  such  an  affair, 
and  a  few  whispered  words  in  the  officer's  ear  set 
tled  the  matter  satisfactorily. 

"But   I'm    not    done  with   you,    my  chicken," 


200  IX    THE    GRAND    STAND 

yelled  the  prisoner  ufter  Frank.  "  I  've  marked 
you  well,  my  cully,  and  I  '11  get  even  with  you 
yet,  if  I  'm  jugged  for  it !  " 

Paying  no  heed  to  the  fellow's  menace,  Frank 
supported  Minnie  down  the  stairs.  The  poor  girl 
was  almost  too  faint  and  weak  to  stand.  In  a  few 
minutes  more  they  drove  out  of  the  Park  Gates, 
and  dashed  hack  toward  the  city. 

"Are  you  ill,  Minnie?"  Frank  cried,  suddenly, 
as  the  young  girl's  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder. 

"In  mercy's  name  stop  at  the  first  house,"  she 
murmured.  "I  —  I  fear  I  shall  faint!  Quick, 
Frank,  for  the  love  of  heaven  ! " 

Fortunately  a  public-house  was  close  by.  Frank 
hastened  to  assist  the  agitated  girl  to  alight,  ex 
plaining  to  the  landlord  in  a  few  hurried  words 
the  cause  of  Minnie's  illness. 

In  a  moment  or  two  Minnie  was  lying  upon  a 
couch  in  the  private  sitting-room,  while  the  land 
lord's  wife  applied  some  simple  restoratives. 

"She  will  be  all  right  after  a  little  rest,"  said 
the  woman  to  Frank.  She  looked  curiously  for 
a  moment  at  the  young  couple,  then  she  drew 
Frank  aside  and  asked  in  a  low  tone,  — 

"The  lady  is  your  wife,  I  take  it,  sir?" 

The  young  man  was  for  an  instant  perplexed  at 
the  sudden  question.  Then  with  a  rapid  intuition, 
he  answered  quickly:  "My  wife?  Certainly  she 
is  my  Avife." 


JEIIKS    AND   SLIPPERS    CN    TKOTT1NG    PARKS.    201 

"  Ah  !  I  am  glad  to  hear  that"  said  the  woman, 
and  left  the  room. 

"Frank,"  said  Minnie,  faintly,  beckoning  him 
to  her,  "  do  you  love  me  as  dearly  and  truly  as 
you  have  so  often  told  me  that  you  did  ?  " 

"  Ten  thousand  times  more  than  I  can  ever 
express  by  words,  my  darling,"  said  the  young 
man  ;  and  at  the  time  he  spoke  nothing  but  the 
truth. 

"  Stoop  down  nearer  to  me,  dear  Frank,"  Minnie 
said  again.  "I  want  to  whisper  something  in 
your  ear." 

The  young  man  complied,  then  started  back 
pale  and  trembling. 

" Now  you  will  not  prove  false  to  me,  Frank?" 
said  the  young  girl,  imploringly. 

"  Never,  my  poor  girl !  "  he  answered.  "  Min 
nie,  whatever  it  may  cost  me,  whatever  the  result 
may  be,  you  shall  be  my  lawful  wedded  wife 
within  forty-eight  hours.  I  will  take  you  home 
to-night.  To-morrow  I  will  make  all  necessary 
preparations,  and  in  the  evening  we  will  go  quietly 
to  a  clergyman  and  be  married.  As  I  do  to  you," 
he  added,  solemnly,  "may  God  do  to  me  in  the 
hour  of  my  utmost  need  !  " 

Kememberthat  oath,  Frank  Gildersleeve,  when 
the  hour  you  have  prophesied  shall  come  ! 


CIIAPTEE    XVI. 

LIBERALISM      VS.     CATHOLICISM.  —  MR.      POINDEXTER 
AND   FATHER  TITUS. 

THE  funeral  of  Augustus  Gildersleeve  was 
over.  The  event  brought  into  close  relationship 
those  exponents  of  Catholicism  and  Liberalism, 
Poindexter  and  Father  Titus.  When  dying,  Mr. 
Gildersleeve  had  bowed  his  head  to  Father  Titus. 
The  priest,  from  previous  knowledge,  understood 
this  motion  to  mean  that  the  merchant  died  in  full 
acceptance  of  the  Catholic  faith.  This  was  the 
only  sign  he  gave  of  salvation. 

From  that  time  Father  Titus  looked  upon 
the  Gildersleeve  estate  as  part  of  his  own.  He 
was  now  more  frequently  at  the  mansion  than  ever 
before.  True,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  was  a  Tran- 
scendentalist  and  a  woman  of  strong  will,  but  she 
had  allowed  Gertrude  to  attend  at  confessional 
and  be  taught  by  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dume. 
Now  Gertrude  was  an  heiress.  What  a  prize  for 
the  church !  Mr.  Poindexter  had  always  been 
free  in  the  family,  especially  to  the  sideboard  ! 
Prohibition  was  not  in  his  creed.  Both  these 


MR.    POIXDEXTER   AND   FATHER    TITUS.       203 

gentlemen  at  the  present  moment  were  a  little  too 
free  in  spirit.  Their  tongues  being  oiled,  they 
glibly  revealed  too  many  church  secrets. 

"Father  Titus  1  Tell  me  !  What  is  the  secret 
of  your  Avonderful  success  in  America?"  said 
Poindexter  as  they  sat  in  the  smoking-room  of 
the  Gildersleeve  mansion. 

"  Well,  sir  !  First,  organization.  We  are  the 
strongest  organized  body  in  the  world.  Obedi 
ence  to  the  church  is  our  first  law.  We  obey  the 
church  through  the  Bishop.  His  word  is  the 
divine  fiat.  When  he  speaks,  the  great  army  of 
priests  execute  his  mandates.  Millions  of  hearts 
beat  as  one.  By  the  confessional,  and  our  secret 
orders,  we  penetrate  every  private  chamber,  con 
vict's  cell,  court,  conclave,  and  eveiy  secret  con 
venticle.  Our  spies  are  like  Elisha,  who  'telleth 
the  words  thou  speakest  in  thy  bedchamber.'" 

"Well,  I  confess,"  said  Poindexter,  "that 
Liberalism  is  deficient  in  organization  ;  hence  our 
failure." 

"  No,  not  altogether,"  said  Titus.  "You  have  no 
zeal,  no  ardor  to  hold  men  together.  Xo  faith. 
Zeal  springs  from  faith.  The  Puritans  were 
zealous  —  men  of  conviction  ;  so  are  we.  Our  poor 
followers  will  do  anything  for  the  church  ;  make 
any  sacrifice  ;  fast,  pray,  go  to  early  mass  exposed 
to  storm  or  cold  ;  do  penance,  confess,  repent,  and 


204  LIBERALISM   VS.    CATHOLICISM. 

give   their   last  cent,  all  for  the  priest  and  the 
church." 

"  Still  your  army  don't  increase  with  the  in-\ 
crease  of  population." 

"No,  we  have  some  drawbacks.  Free  schools 
destroy  faith.  Many  fall  away.  But  the  school 
question  will  be  soon  settled.  Our  children  will 
attend  our  own  schools." 

"  Then  ignorance  is  still  the  mother  of  devo 
tion?" 

"No,  not  exactly.  Yet  many  of  our  purest 
saints  are  those  that  cannot  read.  They  can  say 
the  rosary,  and  make  the  sacrifice." 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Poindexter.  "  The  poor  make  the 
sacrifices,  but  how  about  the  rich?  How  about 
the  priests?  How  about  fast  horses,  liquors, 
cigars,  and  those  amiable  '  Nieces'  ?" 

"Well,  the  priests  are  not  all  abstemious,  I 
confess.  But  as  they  are  sworn  to  celibacy,  having 
no  family  privileges,  they  may  be  pardoned." 

"  It  is  astonishing  to  see  the  faith  that  the  poor 
people  have  and  how  easily  they  are  deceived  by 
you." 

"Yes.  They  may  be  deceived.  (They  are 
taughtthat  the  priest  can  do  no  harmy  Taught 
that  he  stands  in  the  place  of  God,~Tiears  confes 
sion,  pronounces  absolution,  and  the""  Almighty 
wojflldjipt  allow  him  to  do  wrong.  Thus  we  are  \ 
above  suspicion." 


MR.    P01XDEXTER    AND    FATHER   TITUS.       205 

"  Your  church  assumes  to  cater  to  all  tastes,  to 
supply  every  kind  of  spiritual  needs." 

"Assumes?  We  do  it!"  said  Father  Titus 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  and  helping  himself  from 
the  Bourbon  decanter. 

These  frequent  libations  were  beginning  to  tell 
on  the  priest.  His  tongue  was  becoming  loosened, 
much  to  Poindexter's  satisfaction  and  amusement, 
who  continued  to  ply  him  with  questions. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  priest,  "the  Catholic 
Church  is  the  true  Universal  Church.  It  meets 
the  requirements  of  every  class.  Ignorance  and 
culture  flock  to  our  holy  standard.  Meet  on 
equal  ground.  We  recognize  no  privileges  of 
rank  or  condition.  Look  at  our  converts.  They 
conic  from  every  rank  in  society ;  not  only  the 
poor,  but  the  rich.  Strange  though  it  may  seem, 
our  ranks  are  rapidly  filling  even  from  men  of 
your  own  creed,  brother  Poindexter,  There  is  a 
culminating  point  in  faith  as  in  physics,  when  all 
beyond  is  chaos.  Liberalism  tends  to  that  point. 
When  reached,  then  the  work  of  the  Catholic 
Church  begins.  We  find  a  man  figuratively 
drowning,  and  reach  out  to  him  the  saving  hand. 
A  sinking  man  will  grasp  even  at  a  straw,  you 
know.  Witness  our  departed  friend,  whose  good 
liquors  we  are  now  discussing.  Thus  you  have 
the  spectacle  of  a  man  of  culture,  of  refinement 


206  LIBERALISM    VS.    CATHOLICISM. 

and  wealth,  who  has  cut  loose  from  all  faith,  de 
nying  religion,  denying  God,  denying  Christ,  and 
at  last  in  his  despair  ready,  nay  !  eager  to  wor 
ship  a  wafer !  Ah  !  Brother  Poindexter,''  con 
tinued  Father  Titus  facetiously,  "  I  shall  only  ho 
too  happy  to  be  at  hand  at  the  time  of  your 
need  !  " 

And  the  priest  laughed  heartily  at  the  conceit, 
while  again  having  recourse  to  the  decanter. 

Poindexter  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  He 
felt  something  of  the  truth  of  the  priest's  re 
marks,  but  did  not  care  to  acknowledge  it.  He 
thought  of  his  own  limited  congregation.  It  was 
daily  growing  "  small  by  degrees  and  beautifully 
less."  At  length  with  a  feeling  of  envy  he  said, 
"Your  church  is  certainly  a  powerful  one,  Father. 
Even  the  politicians  are  afraid  of  you." 

"The  politicians  !"  cried  Father  Titus,  disdain 
fully.  "  Of  course  !  AVe  hold  them  in  the  hol 
low  of  our  hand  :  they  know  the  value  of  the 
votes  we  control.  Since  '  Know  Nothing'  days, 
no  politician  dare  throw  down  the  gauntlet  to  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church  !  You  tender  Protestants 
were  shocked  at  your  own  illiberality  in  perse 
cuting  Catholics, — almost  disfranchising  them. 
The  revolution  in  public  feeling  came,  brought 
about  by  your  own  uneasy  consciences.  Ha ! 
ha  !  It  was  a  grand  thing  for  us.  It  is  what  we 


MR.    POINDEXTEH    AND    FATHER    TITUS.       207 

ever  aim  to  effect.  Proscription,  persecution, 
martyrdom  !  These  are  our  glor}^.  From  these 
come  our  strength.  The  blood  of  the  martyrs 
is  the  seed  of  the  church,  you  know." 

"  But  there  was,  in  fact,  no  bloodshed." 

"  Xo,  but  there  was  plenty  of  loud  talk  about 
it.  I  saw  men  in  those  days,  even  here  in  Boston, 
eager  to  dye  their  hands  in  Catholic  blood.  Ah  ! 
if  they  had  only  done  it !  We  looked  for  it, 
longed  for  it,  prayed  for  it,  and  did  everything  to 
precipitate  a  massacre  !  Would  you  believe  it  ? 
Some  of  the  most  rabid  agitators  in  the  'Know 
Nothing '  counsels  were  secretly  our  agents  ;  at 
heart  the  most  fervid  Catholics." 

Poindexter  passed  the  decanter  at  this  point. 
He  saw  the  usually  cautious  priest  was  getting 
into  a  vein  of  braggadocio  from  the  effects  of  the 
liquor,  and  was  just  in  the  mood  for  letting  out 
secrets.  The  Liberal  preacher  inwardly  hated  the 
priest.  He  was  not  ignorant  of  Father  Titus's 
"rowing  influence  in  the  Gildersleeve  family,  and 
he  resented  what  he  considered  an  encroachment 
on  his  own  particular  domain. 

"  Speaking  of  politicians,"  said  Poindexter, 
"you  refer,  of  course,  to  the  Democratic  party." 

"  By  no  means.  Republican  officials  are  not 
exempt  from  our  influence  any  more  than  are 
Republican  newspapers." 


208  LIBERALISM    VS.    CATHOLICISM. 

"  But  your  power  is  strongest  among  Dem 
ocrats.  To  paraphrase  Horace  Greeley's  famous 
saying,  —  I  do  not  say  that  all  Democrats  are 
Catholics  ;  but  I  do  say  all  Catholics  are  Demo 
crats.  I  have  yet  to  see  a  single  exception. 
Now,  Father  Titus,  in  what  does  your  hold  on  the 
Democratic  party  consist?  " 

"  In  this,  brother :  The  policy  of  our  church  in 
every  country  is  to  side  with  the  minority  part}- ; 
to  gain  their  gratitude  by  substantial  help,  so  that 
when  the  day  of  prosperity  arrives  we  may  ride 
with  them  into  power.  In  America  the  Demo 
cratic  party  best  subserves  our  ends  and  aims,  — 
through  that  party,  which  is  strong  in  the  great 
cities,  our  influence  is  felt  in  every  department  of 
municipal  government.  The  bulk  of  our  strength 
lies  in  the  cities.  Yes,  Brother  Poindexter,  our 
church  is  a  powerful  organization.  To  sum  up, 
the  poor  believe  in  us.  The  Democrats  swear  by 
us.  Politicians  are  afraid  of  us.  Convicts  cling 
to  us  as  to  an  ark  of  refuge.  Gamblers  who  rev 
erence  nothing  else,  reverence  our  religion.  Be 
fore  the  priests  they  take  their  hats  off  and  humbly 
say,  '  Your  Reverence.'  In  short,  wherever  sin, 
poverty,  and  crime  exist  in  large  masses,  there  is 
our  harvest-field,  and  there  we  reap  a  prolific 
harvest ;  for  Holy  Mother  Church  alone  supplies 
the  great  want  of  nature,  —  shifting  upon  herself, 


MR.    POINDEXTER    AND    FATHER   TITUS.       209 

the  burden  of  moral  and  spiritual  responsibility, 
and  taking  away  the  fear,  the  dread,  the  very 
sting  of  death.  The  true  test  of  religion  is  the 
death-bed.  It  is  only  the  child  of  the  true  church 
whose  pathway  to  heaven  is  made  smooth  and 
placid,  and  devoid  of  every  source  of  terror." 

"D.  L.  Moody,  the  Revivalist,  claims  as  much 
for  his  peculiar  creed,"  said  Poindexter.  "  His 
labors  extended  over  the  same  ground  as  that  of 
your  church.  He  drew  criminals,  drunkards, 
paupers  into  the  fold !  Drew  them  in  by  thou 
sands.  He  must  have  proved  a  thorn  in  the  flesh 
to  you  Catholic  priests." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Father  Titus.  "That  is 
rich,  indeed.  Moody  never  gained  a  single  con 
vert  from  us,  if  that  is  what  you  mean.  Why, 
as  an  inducement  to  the  poor,  he  enticed  them  by 
feeding  large  numbers  at  the  Tabernacle.  Well, 
they  ate  his  earthly  bread,  but  could  n't  stomach 
his  spiritual  sustenance.  On  Fridays  he  gave 
them  pork  and  beans.  The  Catholic  instinct  was 
too  strong.  They  ate  the  beans,  but  left  the  pork 
on  their  plates !  No!  Not  even  paupers  can  be 
tempted  to  go  back  on  the  church.  They  may 
starve,  hunger  may  gnaw  at  their  vitals,  but  they 
will  die  rather  than  forsake  the  Mother  Church 
which  has  nurtured  them." 

r  You  hinted  at  controlling  the  newspapers  ?  " 

14 


210  LIBERALISM   VS.    CATHOLICISM. 

Father  Titus  nodded. 

"That  explains,  then,  why  no  scandals  against 
the  priests  are  ever  made  public  ?  " 

"Partly,"  said  Father  Titus,  mysteriously. 

"  While  a  poor  Protestant  minister,  if  he  makes 
a  faux  pas,  sees  his  name  blazoned  in  every  print," 
said  Poindexter. 

"That  is  the  advantage  of  belonging  to  the 
priesthood,"  said  Father  Titus  with  a  wink  and  a 
leer.  "  We,  you  see,  are  virtually  a  secret  body, 
and  every  priest  is  interested  in  concealing  the 
peccadilloes  of  his  brother  priests." 

"Take  care,  Father  Titus!  Take  care!  some 
day  some  of  these  scandals  may  leak  out,  and 
let  light  in  upon  your  secret  doings." 

"  Oh !  that  would  be  impossible,"  said  the 
priest,  as  he  rose  to  go,  "for  if  any  of  our  parish 
ioners  should  fall  into  our  trap  and  then  expose 
us  !  Why,  they  would  be  excommunicated,  and 
then  be  looked  upon  by  the  congregation  as 
lunatics." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ROSE   DELANEY  GOES  TO  CHURCH.  —  SPIDER  AND  FLY. 

FATHER  TITUS  is  seated  in  his  confessional. 
On  one  side  is  Rose  Delaney,  dark-eyed,  rosy- 
cheeked,  sparkling  in  her  youthful  beauty.  On 
the  other  an  old  woman,  wrinkled,  blear-eyed, 
palsy-stricken.  Old  Bridget  pours  forth  her  con-  \ 
tession  with  enthusiasm.  The  priest  to  her  is  as 
the  ear  of  Heaven. 

"  Ah !  Sure,"  she  would  say  on  seeing  the 
priest's  eyes  closed  as  if  inattentive  to  her  mum 
bled  confession,  —  "  sure  an'  the  blissed  father  is 
wearied  wid  his  hard  labors.  But  no  matter ! 
Me  confission  goes  right  straight  up  through  him 
ter  the  Blissed  Virgin." 

So  Bridget  continued  to  mumble,  — 

"  Shure  I  ate  mate  lasht  Friday  by  mishtake, 
an'  it 's  back  in  my  church  dues  I  am  too,  an'  I 
forgot  to  sind  little  Patsey  to  his  catechism,  an' 
mist  mass  three  times  the  week." 

And  Bridget  went  on  to  catalogue  her  many 
sins  and  misdoings  of  the  past  week  into  the  ear 
of  the  inattentive  priest. 


212  ROSE  DELAXEY   GOES   TO   CHUKCH. 

To  all  of  which  Father  Titus  responded  absently, 
giving  the  usual  light  penances,  as  "  Say  three 
'Hail  Marys,'" etc. 

All  this  time  Father  Titus's  eyes  were  furtively 
directed  toward  the  young  girl  waiting  her  turn 
on  the  other  side  of  the  confessional.  He  had 
slyly  pushed  aside  the  slide  on  that  side  in  order 
to  see  who  his  next  penitent  was  to  be.  This  was 
Rose  Delaney,—  a  married  woman,  though  scarcely 
more  than  a  child  in  years. 

Her  face  was  new  to  Father  Titus.  And  a  very 
attractive  face  it  was.  So  thought  the  priest,  at 
any  rate. 

Hose  noticed  how  the  priest's  eyes  wandered 
toward  her.  Her  chief  foible  was  vanity.  She 
was  extremely  pretty,  and  she  knew  it.  Flattery 
was  sweet  both  to  her  ears  and  to  her  sight.  She 
craved  attention,  hence  she  felt  flattered  at  receiv 
ing  such  particular  notice  from  a  priest,  and  re 
turned  his  sidelong  glances  with  demure  looks 
that  spoke  a  language  all  their  own.  It  was  not 
the  language  of  invitation,  however,  for  Rose's 
heart  was  as  yet  innocent  of  guile.  Ah  !  The 
poor  fly  was  already  fluttering  on  the  edge  of  the 
web  ! 

"  What  a  charming  young  girl !  I  wonder  who 
she  can  be?  This  is  certainly  her  first  confession 
here.  By  the  Holy  Saints  1  Her  beauty  would 


SPIDER    AND   FLY.  213 

stir  an  anchorite's  heart.  Ah  !  —  h  —  h  !  Is  she  a 
new  convert  ?  Has  she  been  confirmed  ?  Has  she 
yet  chosen  a  confessor?  If  not,  why  —  " 

Such  were  the  thoughts  running  through  Father 
Titus's  mind,  while  apparently  listening  to  old 
Bridget's  confession. 

"  Bah  !  I  must  get  rid  of  this  tiresome  Bridget 
Flannagan ;  she  would  go  on  from  now  to  eter 
nity." 

And  Father  Titus  hurriedly  cut  short  Bridget's 
catalogue  of  wrong  doing,  sputtered  out  a  few 
penances,  abruptly  closed  the  slide,  and  as  quickly 
pushed  fully  open  the  one  before  which  Rose 
Delaney  knelt." 

"  In  nomine  P  atria  et  filius  et  spiritus  sanctusr" 
Father  Titus  rolled  out  the  sonorous  blessing  with 
something  more  than  his  usual  unction.  His 
voice  had  a  deeper  cadence,  his  eye,  as  it  fastened 
itself .  upon  the  blushing  countenance  of  his  fair 
penitent,  emitted  a  kindlier  beam. 

The  preliminary  offices  of  confession  over,  the 
priest,  departing  from  the  usual  custom,  led  the 
young  girl  on  to  relate  something  of  her  personal 
history.  His  curiosity  in  this  case  was  not  to  be 
satisfied  by  ordinary  inquiries.  To  Bridget  Flan 
nagan  he  had  given  five  minutes,  Rose  Delaney's 
confession  lasted  nearly  half  an  hoiir,  and,  singu 
larly,  neither  found  it  very  wearisome. 


214     ROSE  DELANEY  GOES  TO  CHURCH. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  daughter?" 

"  Rose  Delaney,  your  reverence." 

"  Ah  !  A  sweet,  pretty  name  indeed  !  And  a 
very  appropriate  one,  too,  my  dear.  'Rose'  is 
highly  suggestive  of  beauty." 

And  Father  Titus  gave  her  one  of  his  most 
benign  glances.  This  was  the  very  oil  of  praise 
to  the  simple  girl. 

"  Have  you  recently  moved  into  the  neighbor 
hood,  my  dear?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Then  I  may  hope  to  see  you  often  at  this 
church." 

"I  shall  not  fail  to  come,  father." 

"And  you  will  come  to  confession  regularly, 
once  a  week,  my  daughter  ?  " 

"Yes,  your  reverence." 

"  Where  do  you  reside?" 

Rose  told  him  the  street  and  number. 

"Are  your  parents  members  of  the  Catholic 
Church?" 

"No,  your  reverence.  I  was  brought  up  a 
Protestant." 

"  Ah !  You  have  been  snatched,  then,  as  a 
brand  from  the  burning.  Thanks  be  to  the  Holy 
Virgin  !  Perhaps  you  may  yet  be  the  means  of 
rescuing  your  parents  from  endless  misery." 

"  My  father  is  dead,  your  reverence.  But  my 
mother  still  lives  !  " 


SPIDER    AND   FLY.  215 

w  You  reside  with  your  mother,  then?" 

"No,  father,"  Rose  answered  with  a  little  hesi 
tancy,  "  I  live  witli  —  with  my  husband  !  " 

Father  Titus  was  intensely  surprised  at  this. 
He  looked  at  Rose  as  if  scarcely  able  to  credit  the 
statement.  She  seemed  so  very  young,  —  so 
much  like  a  child ! 

"  How  long  have  you  been  married,  my 
daughter  ?  " 

"Three  years,  father." 

"  Indeed !  You  were  married  very  young,  I 
should  say,  my  child.  Is  your  husband  a  Cath 
olic?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  your  reverence." 

"  Ah  !  Then  we  owe  your  conversion  to  the 
true  faith  to  your  love  for  him  !  " 

"Assuredly,  father,  I  love  my  husband  very 
much.  If  I  had  not  loved  him  so  dearly,  I  could 
never  have  withstood  my  dear  mother's  prayers 
and  pleadings  against  my  joining  my  husband's 
church.  It  was  a  very  bitter  struggle,  father." 

"  It  will  redound  to  your  glory  in  this  world 
and  in  the  next,  dear  daughter.  Have  you  any 
children  ?  " 

"Two,  father." 

"What  is  your  husband's  business?" 

"  He  is  just  now  out  of  work,  your  reverence. 
He  is  confined  at  home  by  an  attack  of  rheuma 
tism." 


216  ROSE    DELANEY   GOES    TO  CHURCH. 

"Ah!  Well,  a  true  son  of  the  church  must 
needs  find  friends  who  will  assist  him.  I  do  not 
know  but  that  I  can  be  of  help  to  Mr  Delaney. 
You  may  come  to  my  house  at  eight  o'clock  this 
evening.  «md  I  will  see  if  something  cannot  be 

O  *  c/ 

done  for  your  husband.     Will  your  duties  permit 
you  to  come  at  that  hour  ?  " 

Father  Titus's  eyes  were  devouring  the  charms  , 
of  Rose  Delaney  while  uttering-  these  words.  His 
greedy  gaze  wandered  over  her  graceful  figure, 
taking  in  the  rounded  contours  and  swelling  out 
lines  with  a  satisfaction  that  would  have  fright 
ened  its  object  could  she  have  read  the  meaning 
of  its  expression  aright. 

Reader,  you  have  seen  the  spider  lying  perdu  in 
the  darkest  comer  of  his  web.  Seen  him  watch 
the  gaudy  colored  flies  buzzing  near  his  mesh. 
Now  one  ventures  on  the  outer  circle.  Curiosity 
draws  her  nearer  and  nearer.  Now  her  wings  are 
entangled,  and  buzz  !  buzz  !  flutter  I  flutter !  and 
for  this  time  she  escapes.  The  watchful  spider 
stirs  not. 

"  Ah ! "  says  the  silly  fly,  "  what  a  beautiful 
palace  is  this  !  What  happiness  to  dwell  there  ! 
I  must  explore  those  pleasant  walks,  peep  into 
those  beautiful  chambers !  Ah !  I  could  live 
there  forever !  " 

Again  she  ventures.     Her  feet  tread  the  mazy 


SPIDER   AND   FLY.  217 

walks.  Her  wings  flit  against  the  silken  walls. 
Onward  she  goes,  unconscious  of  the  unseen  gossa 
mer  falling  about  her,  seeing  not  the  destroyer 
waiting  in  ambush.  Suddenly  she  stops,  fright 
ened.  Tries  to  retreat.  Alas  !  it  is  too  late.  In 
vain  the  poor  victim  writhes  and  twisTs^  TEefe  is 
no  help.  She  is  fast  in  the  toils  !  Now  the  enemy 
shows  himself.  Darts  like  a  flash  upon  his  prey. 
Web  after  web  with  lightning  speed  is  spun  over 
the  victim,  until  a  jj]irjjiid_of  death  is  around 


Thus  did  Father  Titus  entrap  the  unwary  Rose  \ 
Delaney.     Thus  did  he  first  arouse  her  curiosity, 
then  allured  her  by  pleasant  anticipations,  and  at  I 
last  led  his  victim  on  to  the  consummation  of  his/ 
dark  and  sinful  plans^ 

But  Rose  Delaney  was  ignorant  that  the  priest 
was  actuated  by  any  other  than  the  worthiest 
motives,  —  motives  of  pure  benevolence  and  kind- 
heartedness.  So  she  answered  that  she  wou'd 
call  at  the  parsonage  at  the  time  specified,  and 
with  this  he  dismissed  her. 

Rose  Delaney  hastened  home  with  a  light  heart. 

"  Oh  !  John  !  "  she  exclaimed  to  her  husband,  as 
she  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 
ff  Cheer  up  !  I  have  got  real  good  news  to  tell 
you." 

"  Ah  !  Well,  what  is  your  good  news,  Rosie?'' 
said  John,  smiling  at  her  happy  face  and  joyous 
manner. 


218     ROSE  DELANEY  GOES  TO  CHURCH. 

"  Well,  I  have  been  to  confession,  John,  to 
the  '  Gates  of  Paradise '  church.  The  father 
confessor  is  a  .splendid  man." 

"  Ah  !  You  like  him,  then?  What  is  his  name, 
Rosie  ?  " 

"  Father  Titus." 

"  Oh !  yes  !  I  have  heard  of  him.  He  has  a 
very  high  standing  among  the  clergy.  I  believe 
he  is  the  Bishop's  right-hand  man,  and  is  in 
trusted  with  much  of  his  confidential  business. 
Father  Titus's  reputation  for  zeal  and  sanctity 
is  second  to  none  in  the  diocese,  so  I  have 
heard." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  John.  Oh!  I  do  so 
long  to  hear  him  preach.  I  know  I  shall  never 
be  satisfied  to  go  to  any  other  church  save  his  in 
future." 

"  Well,  we  will  take  seats  there  as  soon  as  I 
can  get  to  work  again,  Rosie." 

"  That  puts  me  in  mind,  John.  The  good 
father  inquired  all  about  us.  One  thing  led  to 
another,  and  he  said  he  thought  he  could  be  of 
assistance  to  you.  He  invited  me  to  call  at  the 
parsonage  this  evening,  and  he  would  try  and 
arrange  something  for  you.  Too  bad  your  rheu 
matism  is  so  bad  that  you  cannot  go  with  me, 
John  !  " 

"I  am  sorry,",  too.     But  you  can   tell   Father 


SPIDER    AND    FLY.  219 

Titus  that  I  shall  come  to  church  just  as  soon  as  I 
can  get  out  again.  You  must  invite  him  to  call 
and  see  us,  Rosie.  It  was  very  kind  in  him  to 
interest  himself  in  a  perfect  stranger." 

"  That  is  so,  John.  I  really  almost  fell  in  love 
with  him,  he  is  so  good  and  kind.  Don't  you  be 
jealous  now,  John,"  she  added,  playfully. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  mind  your  falling  in  love  with  a 
priest,  Rosie,"  said  John,  fondly.  "That  kind  of 
love  would  only  be  a  spiritual  affection,  com 
pounded  more  of  reverence  than  of  any  other 
sentiment.  Such  love  we  are  enjoined  to  feel  for 
the  ministers  of  our  Holy  Church.  I  know  that 
you  love  me,  Rosie,  dear,  and  I  have  no  fear  that 
you  will  ever  give  me  any  just  cause  for  being 
jealous  of  you." 

"  I  guess  not !  "  said  Rose  emphatically.  *  You 
are  the  dearest  fellow  in  the  world,  John.  I 
should  like  to  see  the  man  that  could  maKe  me 
swerve  one  hair's  breadth  from  my  loyalty  to  you. 
A  wife  with  such  a  good  husband,  a  mother  with 
two  such  darling  children  as  I  have,  would  be  a 
monster  of  deceit  and  ingratitude  if  she  could 
allow  her  thoughts  to  wander  for  one  moment 
from  them." 

Rose  spoke  from  her  heart.  She  believed 
implicitly  what  she  then  uttered.  Would  the 
time  ever  come  when  she  would  recall  those 


220  ROSE    DELANEY   GOES    TO    CHURCH. 


words   with    bitterness    and   regret?     Would  she    ; 
ever   feel   the    maddening   sting   of  remorse  and 
despairingly    look    back   to   that   happy   moment 
when  the  world  held  nothing  so  precious  to  her 
soul  as  her  loved  husband  and  idolized  children  ? 


CHAPTEE    XVIII. 

THE     JEALOUSY     OF     A     NIECE. — ROSE'S    TEMPTATION 
AND   FALL. 

DURING  the  rest  of  that  day  Father  Titus's 
thoughts  dwelt  more  on  the  coming  interview 
with  Hose  Delaney  than  was  quite  consistent  with 
the  proper  observance  of  his  many  duties. 

The  parsonage  was  a  stately  old  mansion  for 
merly  belonging  to  one  of  Boston's  oldest  families. 
An  old-fashioned  house,  but  abounding  in  modern 
comforts. 

Father  Titus's  tastes  were  of  the  luxurious  order. 
His  study,  sitting-room,  and  bedroom  were  sump 
tuously  adorned.  Creature  comforts  were  on 
every  hand. 

It  was  evening,  and  in  dressing-gown  and  slip 
pers  Father  Titus  was  seated  before  a  genial  fire 
in  the  open  grate  of  his  sitting-room.  He  pre 
sented  a  picture  of  negligent  ease  and  what  he 
would  call  solid  comfort.  At  his  right  hand  stood 
a  table  on  which  Avere  some  books  and  news 
papers,  together  with  glasses  and  a  decanter  of 
wine.  The  latter  was  just  now  receiving  much 
more  of  his  attention  than  the  former. 


222  THE    JEALOUSY    OF    A    NIECE. 

Reaching  out  at  last  to  a  hand-bell,  he  struck 
it  sharply.  A  servant  entered. 

"  Katy,  request  rny  niece  to  come  here,"  said 
the  priest. 

The  servant  departed.  In  a  moment  the  door 
again  opened  and  a  tall,  handsome  woman  ap 
proached  the  priest. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  she  demanded,  brusquely. 

The  priest  turned  and  gave  her  a  glance,  then 
helped  himself  from  the  decanter,  and  said,  — 

"  So !  you  are  in  one  of  your  tantrums  again, 
my  gentle  Marie  ?  " 

"  I  asked  you  what  you  wished  to  see  me  for  ?  " 
said  the  woman,  still  coldly,  her  lips  twitching 
nervously. 

"First  explain  to  me  what  has  put  you  out  of 
sorts  to-day,  and  I  will  answer  you,  my  sweet 
niece,"  said  Father  Titus  mockingly,  with  the  evi 
dent  intention  of  adding  to  her  irritation. 

"JVYece/"  exclaimed  Marie  in  strong  disgust. 
"  Can  you  not  drop  your  hypocritical  mask  even 
when  we  are  alone  ?  What  need  of  keeping  up 
the  ridiculous  farce  with  no  one  but  ourselves  to 
witness  it !  " 

"  Hush  !  silly  girl !  The  very  walls  may  have 
ears  !  But  you  have  not  answered  my  question. 
Tell  me  what  has  displeased  you,  my  charmer?  " 

And  Father  Titus  caught  her  hand  and  com 
menced  to  fondle  it. 


ROSE'S    TEMPTATION    AND    FALL.  223 

The  action  somewhat  mollified  Marie. 

"  Come,  have  I  done  anything  to  vex  you, 
Marie?"  said  the  priest  again,  but  in  a  kinder 
tone. 

"  You  vex  me  continually,  Herman,"  said  Marie, 
softening. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  special  grievance  to-day?" 

"  I  was  at  church  this  morning  —  " 

"  What !     At  church?     I  did  not  see  you." 

"  Xo,  I  took  care  that  you  should  not.  But  I 
saw  you  and  all  that  transpired." 

"  Oh  !  You  did,  eh  ?  You  did  n't  come  to  con 
fession,  I  take  it?"  sneered  the  priest.  :( That 
would  be  needless,  my  dear  Marie,  since  here  you 
may  confess  to  me  in  private  ad  libitum." 

Marie  did  not  deign  to  reply  to  this  sarcasm. 

"  I  went  to  church  for  a  purpose." 

ff  Most  people  do  ! "  said  Father  Titus  dryly. 
So  dryly  in  fact  that  he  felt  compelled  to  moisten 
his  palate^  on  the  instant  with  another  glass  of 
wine. 

*"  \Vell,  what  was  your  purpose  in  going  to 
church,  my  dear?"  he  continued. 

"To  watch  yo?/,  Herman  Titus." 

"The  deuce!"  said  Father  Titus  to  himself. 
"Marie  is  certainly  getting  jealous.  Somebody 
has  been  putting  a  flea  into  her  ear.  It  is  de 
cidedly  inconvenient  just  at  this  juncture,  when  I 


224  THE   JEALOUSY   OF   A   NIECE. 

am  expecting  the  young  and  interesting  Rose 
Delaney  here  every  moment.  I  must  get  our 
jealous  Marie  away  for  the  evening  somehow.'' 

Then  to  Marie  he  said,  — 

"  To  watch  me  ?  You  are  beside  yourself,  my 
dear.  Or  have  you  turned  spy  for  our  good 
Bishop  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  the  woman.  "  r\ 
have  suspected  you  were  playing  fast  and  loose 
with  me  for  some  time.  I  saw  the  young  and 
pretty  girl  who  made  such  an  exceedingly  long 
confession  to  you  to-day  !  "  she  added  significantly. 
"  Is  she  to  be  my  successor  here  ?  Is  she  to  play 
the  role  of  another  of  your  NIECES  ?  " 

"Decidedly,  I  shall  have  to  ship  this  jealous 
Marie  off  to  a  nunnery,"  said  Father  Titus  sotto 
voce.  Then  aloud  he  added,  — 

"Marie,  your  remarks  are  in  very  bad  taste. 
You  are  not  in  an  amiable  mood,  and  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  have  to  give  you  a  penance  to  exorcise  this 
bad  spirit.  I  was  thinking  of  spending  a  sociable 
evening  with  you,  and  so  sent  for  you,  as  I  ex 
pected  to  be  alone  to-night.  But  to  my  sorrow, 
I  see  I  must  order  it  otherwise.  So  put  on  your 
things,  my  dear,  and  go  out  and  visit  poor  Mrs. 
Braaagan.  She  is  quite  ill,  you  know.  After 
that  you  can  call  at  Tim  Mullooney's,  whose  fam 
ily  are  reported  to  be  in  very  destitute  circum- 


ROSE'S    TEMPTATION    AND    FALL.  225 

stances  since  Tim  fell  from  the  staging  of  the 
church  ii  month  or  two  ago.  I  will  make  you  my 
almoner.  Here  are  a  few  dollars.  I  need  not 
caution  you  to  use  care  and  discretion,  and  not  be 
too  liberal  in  dispensing  the  Lord's  money.  I 
hope  you  will  pass  a  pleasant  evening,  my  dear. 
What !  Are  you  not  going  ?  " 

For  Marie  made  no  offer  to  take  the  money  or 
to  stir. 

"No,  I  am  not  going  a  step!"  she  exclaimed, 
defiantly. 

Father  Titus  arose  slowly  to  his  feet.  An  entire 
change  came  over  his  countenance.  His  features 
hardened  into  rigid  lines.  His  brows  drew 
together.  His  eyes  flashed  out  sparks  of  angry 
fire.  He  walked  close  up  to  the  now  cowering 
Marie. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  disregard  my  wishes,  woman  !" 
he  said,  in  deep  chest  tones.  "  Will  you  compel 
me  to  —  " 

But   there   was    no    need    of  carrying    out   his11 
threat.     Marie,  frightened  by  his  menacing  man 
ner,   which  perhaps   recalled   some  former   harsh 
experience  that  she  had  no  wish  to  have  repeated, 
bowed  her   head    submissively,  silently  took  the! 
money,  and  left  the  room. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  Father  Titus  heard 
the  street  door  close.  Again  he  summoned  the 
servant. 


22(3  THE    JEALOUSY    OF  A  NIECE. 

"  Katy,  was  that  Miss  Marie  who  just  went  out  ?  " 

"  Yis,  your  rivirince." 

"  Very  well,  you  may  go." 

The  priest  resumed  his  seat,  eying  the  clock 
anxiously.  The  hands  had  hardly  indicated  the 
hour  of  eight,  when  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door. 
A  little  later  Katy  ushered  Rose  Delaney  into  the 
room  and  discreetly  departed. 

"  Ah !  My  dear,  you  are  punctual  as  the 
clock,"  said  Father  Titus,  rising  and  leading  Rose 
to  a  seat  beside  his  own.  "  Sit  down,  my  daughter. 
Why,  I  declare  !  you  look  as  fresh  as  a  daisy. 
How  your  eves  sparkle,  my  child  !  The  cold  air 
has  painted  your  cheeks  like  the  damask  rose. 
But  your  little  hand  is  as  warm  as  I  am  sure  is 
your  heart !  " 

And  good  Father  Titus  continued  to  press 
and  fondle  the  soft,  moist  hand  of  Rose  Delaney  in 
the  most  fatherly  and  paternal  Avay  imaginable. 

Rose  felt  at  first  a  little  uneasy  and  embarrassed 
at  the  priest's  familiarities,  but  in  her  vanity  and 
simplicity  she  thought  no  harm  of  it. 

"And  how  is  your  good  husband,  daughter 
Rose?  "  asked  Father  Titus. 

"  He  is  very  well,  with  the  exception  of  his 
rheumatism,  father.  He  wished  me  to  give  you 
his  regards,  and  say  that  as  soon  as  he  is  able  he 
intends  to  join  the  f  Gates  of  Paradise  '  church." 


ROSE'S    TEMPTATION    AND    FALL.  227 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  my  dear,"  said  the 
priest,  rubbing  his  hands.  "And  that  brings  me 
to  the  subject  about  which  I  desired  you  to  call 
upon  me." 

"About  my  husband,  father?"  said  Rose. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  I  have  a  situation  at  my 
church,  for  a  responsible  and  faithful  man.  The 
duties  are  light,  but  they  will  require  constant 
attendance.  Now  when  I  have  seen  your  husband 
I  can  decide  more  fully.  Meantime  you  can  tell 
me  something  about  him,  so  that  I  may  be  pre 
pared  to  judge.  Of  course,  now,  for  instance, 
you  live  happily  together  ?  " 

The  priest  eyed  the  girl  keenly,  while  not 
seeming  to  do  so. 

"  Oh  yes,  father,"  said  Hose,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"  John  is  one  of  the  best-natured  men  living. 
We  love  each  other  very  dearly." 

"  Excellent,  my  dear,  excellent,"  said  Father 
Titus,  again  rubbing  his  hands,  as  if  his  benevo 
lent  soul  was  highly  gratified  at  such  indications 
of  connubial  felicity.  "I  am  delighted  to  hear 
that  peace  and  happiness  reign  in  your  house. 
Let  it  ever  be  so,  my  daughter,  let  it  ever  be 
so." 

And  the  priest  again  softly  patted  Hose's  dainty 
little  hand. 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  danger  of  its  being  otherwise, 


228  THE    JEALOUSY   OF   A    NIECE. 

father,"  said  Rose.  w  I  am  sure  John  will  ever  be 
kind  and  considerate,  and  I  know  that  I  would 
never  do  anything  to  displease  him." 

"  Let  that  spirit  ever  animate  you,  my  child," 
responded  the  priest.  "  But  excuse  my  lack  of 
hospitality.  Will  you  not  take  a  drop  of  wino 
after  your  long  walk  ?  I  am  sure  it  will  do  you 
good,  my  dear." 

And  Father  Titus  filled  one  of  the  glasses  from 
the  decanter,  and  passed  it  to  Rose. 

' '  Thank  you ,  father,  I  —  I  don't  care  if  I  do 
take  a  little,  although  I  am  not  used  to  drinking 
wine." 

*f  It  will  do  you  no  harm.  You  know  the  apos 
tle  recommends  a  little  wine  for  the  stomach's 
sake." 

Rose  really  did  not  wish  the  wine.  But  she 
had  little  independence  of  character  and  feared  to 
displease  the  priest  by  declining.  She  took  a  sip 
or  two,  and  would  then  have  put  down  the  wine 
glass,  but  Father  Titus  gently  urged  her  to  drink 
the  remainder,  and  she  at  length  complied. 

"  Do  you  not  feel  better,  now,  my  dear  ?  "  asked 
the  priest,  drawing  his  chair  somewhat  closer  to 
hers. 

Rose,  in  fact,  already  felt  a  strange  warm  glow 
at  her  heart ;  her  eyes  fairly  danced  in  a  humid 
light ;  and  the  wine  imparted  an  added  flush  to 
her  whole  countenance. 


ROSE'S    TEMPTATION    AND    FALL.  229 

"  I  never  drank  so  much  wine  in  my  life,"  she 
answered.  "  I  had  no  idea  it  had  such  a  pleasant 
effect.  Yes,  I  certainly  do  feel  better.  Oh  !  I 
feel  as  if  I  must  get  right  up  and  sing  or  dance. 
But  forgive  me,  father,  I  forgot  under  this  strange 
excitement  in  whose  presence  I  am." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  apology,  my  dear,"  said 
the  priest,  his  own  face  glowing,  but  not  alto 
gether  from  the  effects  of  the  wine  he  had  drank. 
"Young  folks  will  be  young  folks.  As  a  general 
thing,  however,  we  priests  do  not  favor  dan 
cing." 

"Yet  Miriam  danced  before  the  Lord,"  inter 
posed  Rose,  wondering  at  her  own  audacity  in 
thus  arguing  with  a  priest. 

"  I  should  have  said  as  it  is  practised  nowa 
days,"  amended  the  priest.  "  Ah  !  This  familiarity 
with  the  Bible  is  the  fruit  of  your  Protestant 
training,  my  dear,"  he  continued,  but  not  severely. 
"  However,  we  shall  work  the  old  leaven  out  of 
your  mind,  my  daughter,  and  instil  in  its  place 
the  more  glorious  and  satisfying  tenets  of  our 
own  holy  doctrines." 

As  if  to  carry  out  this  idea  more  practically, 
Father  Titus  casually  placed  his  arm  along  the 
back  of  Hose's  chair,  and  drew  even  closer  to  her, 
until  she  could  feel  his  hot  breath  on  her  cheek. 

"  Rose,  my  child,"  said  Father  Titus,  "  I  Ve  been 


230  THE    JEALOUSY    OF    A    NIHCK. 

1li inking'  in i idi  of  you  ever  since  your  confession 
this  morning/' 

Rose  looked  pleased,  but  said  nothing. 

"Yes,  my  dear.  I  have  thought  continually 
about  you.  But  let  us  try  another  glass  of  wine. 
Nay,  my  child,  I  would  not  counsel  you  to  do 
anything  to  your  injury,"  he  added,  as  Rose  made 
some  motion  as  if  to  object. 

"  I  have  always  been  taught  that  indulgence  in 
wine  is  wrong,"  said  Rose,  timidly. 

"  And  so  it  is  if  carried  to  an  unlimited  extent, 
my  dear,"  said  the  artful  priest,  filling  two  glasses 
to  the  brim.  "  But  this  wine  is  more  of  a  medi 
cine  than  an  intoxicant.  Come,  my  dear,  here  's 
to  your  very  good  health  and  happiness.  You 
can  conscientiously  drink  that  with  me,  for  what 
ever  I,  as  your  spiritual  father,  counsel  you  to  do, 
you  may  do  without  fear  and  without  reproach." 

Rose  said  no  more,  but  drank  the  wine.  The 
former  pleasurable  effects  were  intensified  by  this 
second  experiment.  She  felt  every  nerve  in  her 
body  tingle  ;  then  an  agreeable,  voluptuous  languor 
stole  over  her.  Her  eyes  closed,  half  sleepily. 
She  felt  the  priest  move  nearer  to  her ;  his  arm 
fell  around  her  waist,  almost  insensibly  her  head 
sank  on  his  shoulder.  She  experienced  no  shock, 
no  alarm.  ^Vll  those  feelings  of  the  woman,  the 
wife,  and  the  mother,  which  should  have  risen  up 


ROSE'S    TEMFfATION   AND   FALL.  231 

and  warned  her  of  her  danger,  which  should  have 
repelled  the  advances  of  the  priest,  seemed  to  be 
drowned  in  the  spell  which  had  been  cast  about 
her  senses  by  the  potent  elixir  that  Father  Titus 
had  urged  her  to  take. 

It  was  a  delicious  draught,  a  draught  fraught 
with  the  sweets  of  Elysium.  But  it  was  tinctured 
with  the  vapors  of  moral  death  ! 

"  Rose,  my  little  darling/'  she  hears  the  voice 
of  the  priest  murmur  in  her  ear,  "  do  you  know 
that  I  love  you?"  pressing  gently  her  cheek. 

Oh  !  Why  did  not  her  guardian  angel  at  that 
moment  come  to  her  aid? 

Why  did  not  the  voice  of  duty,  honor,  corn 
scj&pce,  thunder  in  her  earl  "Fly!  Fly!  Rose 
Delaney  !  (Four  very  soul^is^in^^eril !  "  One 
thought  of  home,  of  her  loved  husband  and  of  her 
innocent  children  would  have  roused  her  to  a  real 
izing  sense  of  her  awful  danger. 

But  alas  !  those  saving  thoughts  of  home  and 
children  came  not.  She  was  bound  in  chains  as 
rigid,  as  unyielding  as  the  serpents'  folds  that 
crushed  the  doomed  Laocoon  ! 

An  hour  passed  by. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  poor  Rose,  sobbing,  "  what  have 
I  done  !  What  have  I  done  !  Oh  !  Father  Titus, 
I  can  never,  never  see  my  husband  and  children 
again ! " 


232  THE   JEALOUSY    OF   A    NIECE. 

"Nonsense,  Rosie,"  said  the  priest,  soothingly.     \ 
"  Oh  !     It  was  so  wrong,  so  wrong  !  "    sobbed 
Rose. 

V 

"  Nay  !  There  has  been  no  wrong,  I  solemnly 
swear  to  you,  my  child .  I  who  have  power  from  on 
high,  I  who  am  a  priest  of  Heaven,  I  absolve  thee, 
daughter,  from  all  wrong,  from  every  taint  of  sin. 
With  me  you  can  commit  no  wrong  in  the  sight 
of  Heaven.  The  Blessed  Virgin  looks  with  favor 
on  those  of  her  children  who  sacrifice  themselves 
in  her  holy  cause." 

With  such  casuistry,  Rose  Delaney's  scruples 
were  at  length  appeased.  She  came  to  believe 
that  every  word  of  the  priest  was  as  an  emanation 
from  Heaven. 

Before  Rose  Delaney  left  Father  Titus's  house 
that  night,   she  was    compelled  to  take  an  oath  \ 
upon  her  knees,  —  an  oath  of  the  most  terrible  and    \ 
binding    character,  —  an    oath   never  to    divulge 
what  had  transpired  that  night  under  the  fear  of 
pains  and  terrors  which  filled  her  very  soul  with    j 
dread  and  horror. 

As  she  rose  from  her  knees  the  priest  placed  a 
roll  of  bank-notes  in  her  hand,  and  then  leading 
her  down  to  the  outside  door,  he  murmured,  — 

"  llenedicite,  my  daughter.  Peace  be  unto  you 
and  yours." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ROSE'S  REMORSE    AND    CONTRITION. — HAPPY  HOME 
DESTROYED. 

ROSE  DELANEY  went  home  with  a  sorrowful 
heart.  In  a  moment  had  fled  hope,  faith,  inno 
cence,  heaven.  She  saw  that  all  the  gifts,  flat 
teries,  and  caresses  of  Father  Titus  had  but  one 
object,  the  ruin  of  her  soul.  Could  she  tell  it  to 
John  ?  No  !  He  would  lose  his  faith  in  all  priests, 
throw  up  his  situation,  leave  the  church  forever. 
Besides  that  dreadful  oath  !  Oh  !  The  anguish 
of  that  young  heart !  The  evening  winds  through 
the  lattice  whispered,  "  You  have  done  wrong  !" 

She  tried  to  say  her  prayers,  but  a  shadow  stood 
between  her  and  God.  Hope  from  the  spirit 
world  had  fled.  The  tender  flower  of  innocence 
and  beauty  was  now  crushed,  and  the  mother  of 
two  lovely  babes  was  a  prey  to  despair.  The  cold 
beams  of  the  moon  on  the  shutter  reflected  a 
colder  heart  of  desolation. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  little  babes  !  My  sweet,  sweet 
babes  !  "  she  whispered  as  she  kissed  them  in  the 
cradle.  "  Oh  !  my  babes  !  Have  I  disgraced  you? 


234         HOSE'S  REMORSE  AND  CONTRITION. 

Blasted  you  forever?  Oh  !  John  !  John  !  I  will 
tell  all !  I  will  confess  !  I  will  repent !  I  will 
ask  your  forgiveness  !  " 

But  there  was  no  John  Delaney  present  to  wit 
ness  her  sorrow,  or  hear  her  sorrowful  confession. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  as  well,  for  the  vase  was 
already  shattered,  the  pitcher  broken  at  the  foun 
tain,  beyond  repair. 

"Oh!  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?" 
wailed  the  wretched  woman. 

Wildly  she  wrung  her  hands  in  bitterest  despair. 
Conviction  had  come  to  her  like  a  sudden  blast. 

"  God  forgive  me,  I  was  blind  !  I  have  been 
deluded,  deceived.  This  wicked  priest  deliber 
ately  planned  my  ruin.  Pretended  to  be  inter 
ested  in  my  family.  Gave  John  his  situation 
solely  to  cloak  his  Avicked  purpose.  Oh  !  Why 
did  I  not  see  through  his  dark  designs?  Why 
did  I  not  withstand  temptation  !  " 

She  threw  herself  in  a  chair,  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  Again  she  started  up  and 
walked  the  floor. 

"Oh,  John  !  John  !  What  will  you  say?  What 
will  you  do  when  you  hear  how  I  have  deceived 
you?  Perhaps  he  will  kill  Father  Titus.  In  his 
agony  and  despair  he  would  not  know  what  he 
did  !  Oh  !  How  can  I  confess  !  How  can  I  tell 
him  of  my  disgrace  !  " 


HAPPY    HOME    DESTROYED.  235 

It  was  near  midnight  when  Rose  retired,  weary 
and  heart-broken  from  her  conscience-stricken 
mind.  And  passers-by  on  the  street  might  have 
heard  the  sobbing  of  a  grief-stricken  woman  as 
she  wept  and  cried  aloud  in  despair. 

John  Delaney  did  not  return  to  his  home  until 
late  that  night,  and  when  he  did  reach  home  Rose 
was  in  a  heavy  slumber,  but  every  now  and  then 
John  observed  that  she  would  sigh  heavily,  as  if 
she  had  been  crying.  This  worried  him  so  that  he 
determined  to  wake  her.  Just  as  the  thought 
occurred  to  him  she  awoke, crying,  "Forgive  me  ! 
Forgive  me  ! "  And  John,  seeing  that  she  had  been 
dreaming,  endeavored  to  soothe  her  to  sleep  again. 

"  What  have  you  been  dreaming  about,  Rose  ?  " 
said  John. 

"Oh  John!"  said  Rose,  evasively,  "I  thought 
that  you  had  gone  away  and  left  me  and  the  chil 
dren,  and  that  I  had  been  the  cause  of  it,  and  I 
was  pleading  to  you  to  come  back  and  asking 
your  forgiveness.  I  awoke  and  found  it  was  but 
ii  dream."  And  Rose  burst  into  tears. 

*  There,  there,  never  mind,  Rose.  You  know 
dreams  mean  exactly  the  opposite,  and  such  a 
thing  would  be  impossible,  for  you  know  how  I 
love  you  and  the  babies,  and  I  know  it  would  bo 
impossible  that  you  should  ever  be  the  cause  of 
my  ever  having  any  such  intentions." 


230  HOSE'S    REMORSE    AND   CONTRITION. 

"  Oh,  John  !  You  arc  so  kind  !  But  where  have 
you  been  so  late  ?  Why,  I  sat  up  for  you  until 
twelve  o'clock." 

"  Well,  Rose,  I  know  I  was  out  rather  late,  but 
it  will  not  occur  again.  So  now  go  to  sleep, 
Rosie,  and  do  not  dream  such  wicked  dreams 
again." 

AH  that  night  Rose  laid  awake  thinking  of  what 
a  base,  heartless  wretch  she  was.  While  her 
husband  slept  heavily  beside  her,  she  was  silently 
sobbing. 

Morning-  came  at  last,  and  she  arose  and  pre 
pared  a  dainty  breakfast  for  John.  She  strove  in 
every  'way  to  minister  to  his  comfort.  Her  con 
trition  took  this  womanly  form.  She  was  soft  and 
gentle  in  her  manner.  Her  voice  took  on  an 
exquisite  tenderness.  John  wondered  at  the 
change.  He  felt  new  love  spring  up  in  his  heart 
for  her.  He  looked  at  her  sad,  tear-stained  face. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  he  said  at  last,  "what  can 
be  the  matter  with  you  ?  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"Nothing,  John, "she  murmured. 

"Nothing?  Come  now,  Rosie,  I  know  better. 
Why  will  you  not  tell  me?  Come,  confide  in  your 
husband." 

Confide  in  her  husband?  Confess  her  sin  to 
him  ?  Oh  !  Never  till  that  moment  did  she  see 
hard  that  would  be.  Could  she  blast  his 


HAPPY    HOME    DESTROYED.  237 

happiness  at  one  fell  blow?  Could  she  endure  his 
anger,  his  misery,  his  despair?  Could  she  stand 
before  him  and  see  those  kind  and  loving  eyes 
look  down  upon  her  with  the  blasting,  withering 
reproach  of  a  deceived  and  basely  injured  hus 
band?  No!  no!  Never!  She  could  not  do  it! 
The  canker  of  remorse  must  eat  into  the  heart, 
must  be  her  silent  companion  to  the  end  of  her 
days.  Never  could  she  know  the  comfort  of  shar 
ing  this  awful  burden  with  another  !  Never  pour 
into  a  sympathizing  bosom  the  misery  that  wrung 
her  own ! 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

MADAME     CHASTINI    AND    FORCEPS.  —  TWO    PARTNERS 
IN   CRIME. 

AT  the  South  End  there  is  a  street  made  up  of 
swell-front  brick  houses.  It  has  at  one  time  been 
a  select  quarter  of  the  city,  but  has  now  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  various  people  who  may  best  be 
described  by  the  term  "  questionable." 

One  of  these  houses  —  the  largest  in  the  street 
—  is  occupied  by  a  lady  whose  name  adorns  the 
front  door  in  largo  gilt  letters,  — 4' Madame  Chas- 
tiui,  Clairvoyant  and  Physician." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  follow 
ing  the  horse-race,  that  Madame  Chastini  was 
sitting  earnestly  engaged  in  conversation  with 
Dr.  Richard  Forceps  in  a  private  room  of  her 
house. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  state  that  the  madame 
sailed  under  two  flags ;  in  other  words,  that  to  the 
outer  world  she  was  Madame  Chastini,  while  to 
her  very  intimate  friends  —  and  Dr.  Forceps  was 
one  of  them —  she  was  known  by  her  proper  and 
legitimate  cognomen,  namely,  Jane  Eipley. 


TWO    PARTNERS    JN   CRIME.  239 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,"  said  the  woman, 
wit's  been  up-hill  work  lately.  We  are  running 
behind  expenses,  and  if  something  don't  turn  up 
mighty  quick,  Dick  Forceps,  we  might  as  well 
sell  out.  In  other  words,  you  and  I  will  have  to 
dissolve  partnership." 

And  the  woman  enforced  her  words  with  an 
emphatic  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Now,  just  keep  cool  a  minute  or  two,  Jenny," 
said  the  dentist.  "You  are  just  like  all  the 
women  ;  you  rattle  away  like  a  platoon  of  raw 
recruits  in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  never  knowing 
what  you  are  shooting  at,  or  whether  your  guns 
are  loaded  and  capped  or  not.  Here  I  've  been 
trying  to  get  a  word  in  edgeways  for  five  min 
utes,  and  tell  you  what  I  Ve  come  for.  I  've  good 
news  for  you,  if  you  '11  give  me  a  chance  to 
inform  you  about  it." 

"Good  news!"  exclaimed  the  woman.     "It's 
always   good   news    with   you,    but   of    late    it's 
alwa3rs  turned  out  pretty  bad  in  the  end.     Look 
at  that  last  scrape  we  had,  —  that  girl  that  cost  us  ] 
so  much  only  a  month  ago.     A  year's  profits  gone  i 
to  the  bad  at  one  swoop.     And  how  is  it  about  ) 
the  girl  that 's  lying  up-stairs  now  ?  " 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?     Sadie  Burns  ?  " 

"Yes,  Sadie  Burns,  —  burn  me  for  ever  having 
anything  to  do  with  the  case  !  " 


240  MADAME    CHASTINI   AND   FORCEPS. 

"  Why,  I  thought  she  was  all  right." 

"  Well,  then,  she  ain't.  Nothing  's  right  with 
you  and  me  mnvadays." 

"  What 's  the  trouble  with  the  Burns  girl  ?  Dr. 
Ring  told  me  yesterday  that  she  was  coming  round 
in  apple-pie  order." 

"Well,  she  isn't  coming  round  at  all,  in  my 
belief.  And  what  if  she  does?  There  is  no 
money  back  of  her.  No  rich  noodle  to  squeeze 
and  get  a  pile  out  of.  Nothing  but  the  regular 
fee.  And  if  she  happens  to  peg  out,  why  there 's 
another  heavy  drawback." 

"  You  are  taking  too  dismal  a  view  of  things, 
Mother  Ripley,"  said  Forceps,  after  a  short  pause. 
"  Now  listen  to  me,  and  get  ready  for  a  change  of 
luck,  for  it 's  coming,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,  I 'm  listening.  Let's  hear  this  precious 
new  rig  you  have  got  on  the  docket." 

"That's  an  ominous  term  for  youto  use,  Jane," 
said  Forceps,  jocosely.  "  On  the  docket !  That 
means  the  court  calendar.  I  am  sure  I  hope  our 
names  will  never  figure  on  that  precious  list." 

"  I  won't  sit  here  to  listen  to  such  stupid  jokes 
as  that.  Go  on  with  this  brilliant  plan,  or  what 
ever  it  is  you  were  talking  about,"  put  in  the 
madame. 

Thus  adjured,  and  seeing  that  his  partner  in 
iniquity  was  in  no  jesting  mood,  the  dentist 


TWO   PARTNERS    IN    CIJIME.  241 

drew  his  chair  nearer  to  her,  and  in  low  tones 
said,  — 

"  Jenny,  I  've  been  working  up,  for  two  or  three 
months,  a  lay  that  will  either  be  a  Bull  Run  or 
an  Appomattox  to  us.  Either  a  crushing  defeat 
or  a  victory  that  shall  fill  our  pockets  with  the 
rhino." 

In  a  few  words  he  went  on  to  inform  her,  what 
the  reader  is  already  acquainted  with,  in  regard  to 
Frank  Gildersleeve  and  Minnie  Marston ;  only 
he  forbore  for  reasons  of  his  own  to  tell  her  who 
Frank  really  was,  where  he  lived,  and  the  position 
in  society  held  by  his  family. 

"And  now,"  he  continued,  "the  young  noodle 
is  to  bring  the  girl  here  to-night,  and  you  must 
be  ready  to  receive  her  in  your  best  manner. 
Play  the  part  of  the  motherly  matron  and  so 
forth ;  you  understand." 

"And  is  he  really  going  to  marry  the  girl?" 
asked  the  woman. 

"That's  neither  here  nor  there.  It  will  make 
no  difference  in  our  plans  whether  he  does  or  not. 
In  either  case  we  shall  reap  a  rich  harvest." 

"  But  you  hinted  at  a  chance  of  being  defeated 
in  this  plan  ?  " 

"  Only  in  case  the  girl  has  her  suspicions 
aroused.  And  it  will  lay  more  in  your  power  to 
prevent  that  than  :my  one's  else.  You  will  have  to 

1C 


242  MADAME   CTIASTIXI    AND    FORCEPS. 

employ  great  care  to  conceal  the  real  character  of 
the  house,  and  sec  that  none  of  its  present  occu 
pants  have  .access  to  the  girl." 

"I'll  take  care  of  that,  never  fear,"  said  the 
woman,  whose  countenance  had  considerably 
brightened  while  the  dentist  was  detailing  his 

C  O 

plans.  "  But  does  this  young  pigeon  whom  we  are 
to  pluck  know  what  my  real  business  is?" 

"Of  course,  or  he  wouldn't  bring  her  here. 
At  first  I  had  some  difficulty  with  him  on  this 
point.  He  is  soft  as  putty,  you  know,  where  a 
pretty  girl  is  concerned,  and  was  full  of  the  idea 
of  marrying  her  outright,  acknowledging  her  to 
the  world,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  I  have 
him  completely  under  my  thumb,  and  in  the  end 
he  will  do  anything  I  advise,  especially  as  he  fan 
cies  I  am  acting  the  part  of  a  devoted  and  a  dis 
interested  friend.  No,  that  plan  would  not  have 
suited  me.  And  so  I  appealed  to  his  pride,  and 
several  other  considerations  which  I  need  not 
recapitulate,  and  the  upshot  was  that  he  fell  into 
my  way  of  thinking." 

"Ah!  I  see.  He  is  going  to  fool  her.  Lead 
her  to  think  that  he  has  married  her,  and  thus 
the  more  easily  — 

"  Hold-  on,  Jenny.  You  are  going  too  fast,  as 
usual,"  interrupted  Forceps.  "  I  have  said  nothing 
of  the  kind.  But  it  will  make  no  difference. 


TWO  PARTNERS    IN   CRIME.  243 

Think  what  you  please.  Married  or  not  married, 
they  both  are  in  my  toils,  and  nothing  hut  such 
a  sum  of  money  as  will  make  you  and  I  rich  for 
life  will  enable  them  to  escape." 

With  a  few  words  more  of  information  and  cau 
tion,  the  dentist  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTEB  XXI. 
MINNIE'S  WEDDING  NIGHT.  —  DOUBTS  AND  FEARS. 

THE  time  had  now  arrived  when  Frank  Gilder- 
sleeve  must  many  Minnie  Marston  or  have  his 
crime  exposed  to  the  world.  She  would  consent 
to  no  further  delay.  Marriage  or  exposure  stared 
him  in  the  face. 

At  last  Frank,  for  the  twentieth  time,  promised  \ 
to   marry   her.     Perhaps,    he   thought,  he    could 
have  a  mock  marriage.     Induce  Minnie  to  enter 
a  house  of  malpractice,  and  there,  by  fair  means 
or  foul,  get  rid  of  the  evidence  of  his  crime. 

At  twilight,  Frank  led  Minnie  through  street 
after  street,  until  they  finally  came  to  a  plain 
brick  house  in  a  locality  unknown  to  Minnie. 
This,  Frank  said,  was  the  clergyman's  residence. 
Minnie  shuddered  and  clung  closer  to  Frank's 
arm,  an  undefined  dread  creeping  over  her. 
Frank  rang  the  bell,  and  they  were  shown  up 
stairs  to  the  minister's  rooms. 

Minnie  involuntarily  shrank  back.  All  was 
dark,  save  the  feeble  light  from  the  lamps  on  the 


DOUBTS    AND    FEARS.  245 

street.  A  strange,  mysterious  fear  came  upon 
her.  Was  Frank  again  deceiving  her  ?  Was  this 
to  be  a  mock  marriage?  Minnie,  faint  and  Aveary, 
knew  not  what  to  say  or  do. 

The  minister  asked  for  the  ring.  Frank  said 
he  had  none.  Minnie  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
surprise,  and  fainted  and  almost  fell  to  the  floor. 
She  had  been  brought  up  an  Episcopalian,  and 
thought  the  ring  indispensable  to  the  marriage 
service.  Frank  supported  her  in  his  arms,  and 
tried  to  soothe  her  fears. 

The  ceremony  was  performed.  No  ring,  no 
certificate,  no  name  or  residence  of  clergyman 
given  her.  Minnie  trembled  in  doubt  and  per 
plexity.  "Is  this  a  minister  of  God?"  she 
thought.  "Am  I  really  married?  or  is  it  all  a 
mockery  ?  " 

Weak  and  confused,  Minnie  was  led  from  the 
house  leaning  on  Frank's  arm.  He  endeavored 
to  calm  her,  to  allay  her  suspicions.  But  she 
thought,  "He  has  wronged  me  once,  will  he  not 


wrong  me  again  ? 


Frank  led  Minnie  on  through  various  streets, 
until  he  came  to  a  locality  once  the  quarter  of 
aristocracy,  but  now  inhabited  by  quacks,  fortune 
tellers,  and  other  questionable  characters. 

Frank  stopped  at  a  house  with  the  name 
"Madame  Chastini"  upon  the  door-plate.  A 


2-if>  MINNIE'S  WJ.DDIXG  MGIIT. 

wagon  stood  in  the  street  with  a  long  box  in  it. 
Minnie  heard  the  expressman  say  to  a  coarse- 
featured  woman  at  the  door,  — 

"  Will  there  be  any  more  to-morrow?  " 

Minnie  shuddered.  Perhaps  she  might  be  the 
next  victim  carried  away  to  an  unknown  grave1. 
She  thought  of  poor  Jennie  Clarke,  the  girl  found 
floating  in  a  trunk  in  Saugus  River ;  and  her 
mind  grew  troubled  with  dark  and  ominous  fore 
bodings. 

"  Have  you  the  room  I  ordered  all  ready  ? " 
asked  Frank. 

A  few  whispered  words  were  passed  between 
the  woman  and  the  young  man,  and  then  the 
two  were  ushered  into  the  madame's  own  room. 

"This  is  Madame  Chastini,  Minnie,  my  love," 
said  Frank,  as  he  led  the  young  girl  to  an  easy- 
chair,  and  assisted  her  to  remove  her  cloak.  "  Do 
you  not  feel  better  now,  Minnie?  " 

"  The  poor  dear  is  not  well.  She  looks  real 
ill,"  said  the  madame,  compassionately.  "Will 
you  not  let  me  get  you  something  or  other,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Gilderslecve  ?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  Minnie  had  ever  been  ad 
dressed  by  that  name,  and  a  faint  but  wan  smile 
flickered  over  her  countenance  as  she  thanked  her 
hostess. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  retire  to  our  rooms, 
Frank,"  she  said,  "  if  they  are  ready." 


DOUBTS    AND   FEARS.  247 

"  You  shall  do  so  at  once,  and  I  will  show  you 
the  way,"' said  Madame  Chastmi.  "Poor  young 
creature.  I  declare,  your  sweet  face  goes  to  my 
very  heart.  I  had  a  daughter  once  —  dead  now, 
alas  !  —  and  you  put  me  so  much  in  mind  of  her. 
We  shall  be  good  friends,  I  know,  my  dear. 
This  way,  please." 

And  so  saying,  the  woman  led  them  up  the 
stairs  and  through  a  long  corridor  to  a  large 
chamber  handsomely  furnished,  and  in  which  a 
cheerful  fire  glowed  in  an  open  grate. 

"  Good  night,  sir ;  good  night,  my  dear  child. 
You  will  find  a  bell  at  the  other  side  of  the  man 
tel  which  communicates  with  my  apartments.  If 
you  require  anything,  please  ring.  Once  more, 
good  night." 

It  was  some  minutes  after  the  woman  left  the 
room  before  either  of  the  two  spoke. 

Frank  seemed  uneasy  and  disquieted,  and 
walked  the  room  with  restless  strides.  At  last 
Minnie  called  him  to  her. 

"What  can  be  the  matter  with  you,  Frank?" 
she  said.  "  You  have  acted  so  strangely  ever 
since  we  set  out  from  my  boarding-house  to-night. 
Oh  !  I  am  filled  with  the  strangest  forebodings  !  " 

And  the  poor  girl  began  to  cry. 

"You  are  needlessly  distressed,  Minnie,"  the 
young  man  said,  approaching  her  and  putting  his 


248  MINNIE'S  WEDDING  NIGHT. 

drm  around  her.  "Nothing  is  the  matter  with 
me  at  all.  Such  a  step  as  I  have  taken,  without 
consulting  any  of  my  friends,  naturally  makes  me 
somewhat  serious,  perhaps ;  and  then  my  appre 
hensions  about  your  own  nervous  state  give  me 
some  uneasiness." 

"  You  do  not  regret  having  married  me,  Frank  ?  " 

"  Regret  it !  What  put  such  a  silly  notion  as 
that  in  your  head,  Minnie  ?  No,  indeed.  But  you 
are  seriously  ill,"  he  exclaimed,  as  Minnie  sud 
denly  fell  back,  her  head  dropping  upon  her  chest. 

She  had  indeed  fainted  ! 

When  Minnie  recovered  consciousness,  she 
foimd  Frank  bending  over  her,  and  noted,  with  a 
strange  chill  through  her  veins,  the  peculiar 
expression  of  his  face.  It  seemed  to  be  made 
up  of  anxiety,  dread,  and  a  settled,  resolute  pur 
pose,  very  different  from  anything  in  her  expe 
rience  of  him  before. 

"  What  did  that  strange  expression  mean  ?  " 

But  before  she  could  give  much  reflection  to 
the  matter,  Frank,  on  seeing  her  open  her  eyes, 
left  her  abruptly  and  without  a  word. 

"How  strange  he  acts  ! "  she  said  to  herself. 
"Why  did  he  go  away?  What  is  he  about  to 
do?" 

He  came  back  while  she  was  thus  meditating 
and  approached  the  bed.  In  his  hand  he  had  a 


DOUBTS    AND    FEARS.  241) 

cnp  about  half  full  of  a  dark-colored  liquid  whose 
pungent  odor  pervaded  the  room. 

"  You  are  feeling  better,  my  dear,  are  you  nol  ?" 
said  the  young  man. 

"A  little,"  she  answered,  remarking  that  the 
hand  which  held  the  cup  shook. 

tf  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  my  dear,"  he  answered. 
"I  have  brought  you  a  little  drink,  which  Ma 
dame  Chastini  prepared  for  you.  She  says  it 
will  do  you  good,  and  you  had  better  drink  it  im 
mediately." 

He  offered  her  the  cup  while  speaking,  and 
raising  herself  upon  her  arm,  Minnie  mechanically 
took  it. 

A  thought  at  the  same  moment  flashed  through 
her  mind, —  a  strange  and  at  the  same  time  a  ter 
rible  thought,  induced  perhaps  by  Frank's  strange 
manner,  together  with  the  nauseous  fumes  of  the 
liquor  he  had  given  to  her. 

"  Take  it  away,  Frank ! "  she  cried,  with  a 
shudder,  and  obliging  him  to  relieve  her  of  the 
cup.  "I  cannot  drink  it  now.  Set  it  upon  the 
table,  and  I  will  drink  it  perhaps  by  and  by." 

"  Oh,  take  it  now,  Minnie,"  he  answered,  and 
she  thought  his  voice  sounded  harsh  and  husky. 
"It  is  late,  and  time  you  were  asleep.  You  will 
not  take  the  medicine  at  all  if  you  neglect  to  do 
so  now." 


250  MINNIE'S  WFDDING  NIGHT. 

"I  cannot,  Frank.  Do  not  urge  me,"  she 
pleaded,  secretly  frightened  at  his  persistency, 
the  dark  suspicion  in  her  mind  thereby  strength 
ened.  "I  could  not  drink  even  a  drop  of  water 
now.  Perhaps  I  shall  feel  more  like  it  presently." 

"This  is  all  childish  nonsense,  Minnie,"  the 
young  man  said,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
speaking  to  her  impatiently.  :t  You  must  drink 
this  medicine.  Madame  Chastini  is  an  experienced 
nurse,  and  she  would  not  recommend  anything 
for  you  that  was  not  for  your  good." 

But  he  could  not  overcome  her  resolution.  The 
poor  girl  was  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  even  dis 
trusted  her  lover  now.  Her  native  shrewdness, 
however,  counselled  her  to  veil  these  feelings, 
but  she  did  not  feel  them  any  the  less. 

Frank  had  great  difficulty  in  concealing  his 
ang;er  at  her  obstinacy.  He  had  been  so  strongly 

t/  o   v 

convinced  by  his  evil  genius,  Richard  Forceps, 
that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  pursue  another 
line  of  conduct  toward  Minnie  than  his  love  for 
her  and  his  own  conscience  had  dictated  at  first, 
that  her  opposition  had  roused  the  worst  side  of 
his  nature. 

Frank  Gildersleeve,  too,  was  a  different  man 
altogether  from  what  he  was  Avhen  first  introduced 
to  the  reader.  His  father's  death  had  made  him  in 
every  sense  his  own  master,  and  continued  dissipa- 


no 

J 

°y 


DOUBTS    AND    FEARS.  251 

tion  and  reckless  debauchery  had  already  poisoned 
the  springs  of  his  bodily  and  mental  health.  He 
was,  as  has  been  seen,  a  mere  puppet  in  the  hands 
of  the  designing  dentist,  who  had  sounded  both  the 
deeps  and  the  shallows  of  the  young  man's  nature 
and  knew  how  to  touch  either  as  the  exigencies  of 
his  plans  required. 

It  was  an  unhappy  day,  indeed,  that  first 
brought  Frank  Gildersleeve  and  Richard  Forceps 
together,  —  unhappy  for  them  both,  as  the  sequel 
will  show,  but  thrice  unhappy  for  the  younger 
man. 

"  So  you  refuse  to  do  as  I  wish,  Minnie  ?  "  Frank 
asked,  finally,  and  there  was  almost  a  menace  in 
the  tones  of  his  voice. 

"  Oh  !  spare  me  !  spare  me  !  Frank  !  "  exclaimed 
(he  poor  girl,  piteously.  "  Oh  !  I  fear  you  would 
have  me  commit  a  great  wrong  !  Oh  !  how  can  I 
do  as  you  wish  !  How  can  I  do  this  sin  against 
God  !  " 

"  Sin  !  I  do  not  ask  you  to  commit  a  sin  !  "  said 
Frank,  nervously. 

"  Oh  !  Frank  !  Frank  !  I  have  put  my  life  in 
your  hands  !  "  cried  Minnie,  sobbing.  "  I  am  all 
alone  and  unprotected.  A  stranger  in  a  strange 
city.  I  have  forsaken  home,  friends,  —  all  for 
you.  Oh !  my  poor,  distracted  parents !  How 
they  are  weeping  for  their  lost  Minnie !  Oh  ! 


252  MINNIE'S  WEDDING  NIGHT. 

Frank !  I  implore  you,  do  not  deceive  me ! 
Think  if  you  had  a  mother  or  sister  so  cruelly 
wronged  !  How  you  would  feel  for  them,  weep 
for  them,  pray  for  them  !  For  their  dear  sake,  if 
not  for  mine,  oh  !  spare  me,  Frank  !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  Frank,  hoarsely.  "  I  say  I 
shall  not  hurt  you.  You  need  not  be  alarmed, 
Minnie." 

"  Then  why  have  you  brought  me  to  this  mur 
derous  house  ?  Why  not  take  me  to  your  home  ? 
Why  not  acknowledge  me  as  your  lawful  wife  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not,  Minnie  !  "  burst  out  Frank.  "  Oh  ! 
I  dare  not !  Society  would  cast  me  out !  My 
parents  would  disinherit  me  !  I  should  be  ruined 
for  life  ! " 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  before  ?  " 
asked  Minnie,  sobbing. 

"  I  dared  not  tell  you  before,  Minnie !  But 
enough  of  this.  Will  you  or  will  you  not  take 
this  drink?" 

"  Please  —  oh  please  do  not  urge  me  !  Why, 
oh,  why  are  you  so  anxious  that  I  should  take 
this  potion  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Have  I  not  told  you  it  was  solely  for 
your  own  good  ?  "  ansAvercd  Frank.  "  But  I  sha'n't 
stop  here  to  bandy  words  with  you,  Minnie.  You 
have  seriously  displeased  me,  and  I  shall  leave 
you  now  to  think  undisturbed  over  the  conse- 


DOUBTS    AND    FKAUS.  253 

quenccs  of  disobeying  the  first  request  your  hus 
band  h<*is  made  to  you." 

His  words  frightened  her,  and  forgetting  her 
weakness,  she  got  off  the  bed  and  caught  hold  of 
his  arm  before  he  could  gain  the  door. 

"Leave  me,  Frank  !  "  she  cried,  wildly.  "What 
do  you  mean  ?  You  would  not  leave  me  alone  in 
this  strange  house.  Oh  !  You  are  only  trying  to 
frighten  me.  You  would  not  leave  me  here  alone 
and  on  our  wedding  night ! 

"  Great  heavens ! r'  she  went  on,  as  a  new  fear 
assailed  her.  "Perhaps  we  are  not  married. 
Perhaps  it  was  all  a  horrible  mockery  invented  to 
deceive  me.  Oh,  tell  nie,  Frank,  are  my  senses 
leaving  me,  or  is  my  suspicion  nothing  but  a  sus 
picion  after  all?  " 

"  Did  I  not  take  you  to  the  clergyman's  house  ?  " 
said  Frank,  yet  his  manner  was  so  constrained  that 
it  only  increased  her  fears.  "  Did  you  not  stand 
up  with  me  before  him,  and,  while  he  pronounced 
the  marriage  service,  did  you  not  swear  to  love, 
honor,  and  obey  me,  till  death  do  us  part?" 

"True,"  said  Minnie.  "But  —  but  was  that 
man  a  real  clergyman?  " 

"A  real  clergyman?  Why,  of  course.  I 
didn't  ask  him  to  show  me  his  credentials, — his 
minister's  license,"  said  the  young  man  mockingly. 
"I  didn't  think  it  necessary." 


254  MINNIE'S  WEDDING  NIGHT. 

"Oh!  forgive  my  foolish  fears,  Frank  I  You 
do  not  know  how  perplexed  and  frightened  I  am- 
I  was  too  ill  to  take  any  note  of  the  surroundings. 
You  took  me  to  a  strange  part  of  the  city  and  rang 
at  a  house,  but  it  was  so  dark  that  I  could  not 
even  see  the  name  on  the  door,  nor  did  I  notice 
the  street  or  its  location.  Oh !  Frank !  I  was 
too  perturbed  to  heed  all  those  things  then,  but 
now  they  come  to  my  mind  with  a  terrible  force  ! 
Even  the  room  was  dark  !  you  placed  no  ring  on 
my  finger  !  I  hardly  saw  the  minister's  face,  and 
fear  I  should  not  know  him  again  if  I  saw  him  ! 
What  was  the  clergyman's  name,  Frank?" 

"Oh!  Don't  bother  about  such  matters  now," 
replied  the  other,  evasively.  '"  What  good  would 
it  do  you  to  know  his  name  ?  I  am  not  sure  either 
that  I  remember  it  correctly." 

"  Oh  !  Frank  !  Frank  !  Do  not  deceive  me  ! 
His  name  must  be  on  the  marriage  certificate  ! " 

"  I  think  I  forgot  to  ask  for  a  certificate  —  " 

"  Forgot !  What,  oh  !  what  does  all  this  mystery 
mean  !"  exclaimed  Minnie,  sadly. 

"There's  no  mystery  except  what  your  imagina 
tive  brain  conjures  up,"  said  Frank,  irritably.  "So 
don't  talk  any  more  about  the  matter.  There ; 
get  back  to  bed  again,  for  I  've  got  some  business 
to  see  about." 

And  he  turned  once  more  to  leave  the  room, 


DOUBTS    AND   FEARS.  255 

but  Minnie  again  clung  to  him,  and  besought  him 
not  to  leave  her. 

"I  must  leave  you,  Minnie,"  he  said.  "But  c/o 
cease  this  silly  and  childish  tirade.  What  are  you 
afraid  of?  I  am  not  going  to  desert  you.  I  shall 
soon  return.  I  am  only  going  out  for  a  short  time 
on  business." 

And  almost  rudely  thrusting  her  aside,  he 
hurried  out  of  the  room. 

Hours  went  by  and  he  did  not  return.  Poor 
Minnie  sat  waiting  for  him,  too  anxious  to  go  to 
bed,  counting  the  strokes  one  by  one  as  the  clock 
rung  out  the  passing  time.  At  last  the  midnight 
chimes  sounded  from  steeple  to  steeple,  denoting 
the  close  of  another  day. 

And  still  Frank  Gildersleeve  came  not. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MINNIE   DESERTED.  —  A   STARTLING   REVELATION. 

ALL  that  night  Minnie  Marston  was  a  prey  to 
the  most  poignant  anxiety. 

"  Why  don't  Frank  come  ? "  she  moaned,  peer 
ing  for  the  fiftieth  time  out  of  the  window,  as 
some  solitary  footfall  echoed  along  the  pavement. 
But  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
footstep  approached,  then  passed  by,  and  Minnie 
again  drew  back  to  her  couch. 

Suddenly  she  started  up.  She  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  head. 

"Oh!"  she  cried.  "Can  it  be  that  I  am  de 
ceived?  Has  Frank  deserted  me?  Has  he  per 
suaded  me  to  come  to  this  strange  place,  left  me 
among  strangers  the  better  to  get  rid  of  me  ?  Oh 
no !  no  !  Perish  the  thought !  I  wrong  him ! 
He  could  not  be  so  cruel.  Hark !  There  is 
another  footstep !  This  time  it  must  be  his. 
Yes  !  It  is  he  !  It  is  he  !  " 

Again  the  poor  girl  flew  to  the  window.  She 
listened.  Her  heart  fluttered  wildly.  She  could 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  257 

not  see  the  man  who  was  drawing  near.  So  she 
ran  to  the  door,  and  listened  at  the  staircase.  But 
the  street  door  did  not  open,  no  familiar  step 
ascended  the  stair.  AVith  a  groan  of  bitterest 
disappointment,  Minnie  tottered  back  into  the 
room. 

"  I  see  it  all  now  ! "  she  murmured  in  despair, 
her  hands  dropping  listlessly  into  her  lap.  "  God 
help  me  !  I  am  deserted  !  " 

She  wrung  her  hands  in  anguish  at  the  thought. 

"  But  no  !  I  cannot,  will  not  believe  it !  Frank 
Gilclersleeve  a  villain?  Never!  never!  Oh!  I 
could  not  have  loved  him  so  !  I  could  not  have 
yielded  my  heart  to  a  man  so  base  !  No  !  No  ! 
Frank  Gildersleeve  cannot  be  so  cruel,  so  heart 
less  !  " 

This  reflection  changed  the  current  of  her 
thought.  A  ray  of  hope  glimmered  through  her 
troubled  soul. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  wronged  poor  Frank,"  she  con 
tinued,  regretfully.  "  How  do  I  know  what  may 
have  detained  him  ?  Perhaps  he  is  ill.  Perhaps 
—  oh  !  perhaps  he  is  dead  !  Surely  he  would  not 
have  left  his  Minnie  —  his  own  dear  wife  !  Why 
did  he  marry  me  unless  he  meant  to  repair  —  Ha  ! 
TV  hat  am  I  saying  !  "  she  exclaimed,  again  spring 
ing  to  her  feet.  The  thought  suggested  was  a 
terrible  one. 
17 


258  MINNIE    DESERTED. 

"  What  if  I  am  not  married,  after  all !  What 
if  that  marriage  was  a  fraud,  a  sham  !  Heaven 
forbid  !  God  could  not  permit  such  a  shameful 
deed  !  No  !  No  !  That  gentleman  I  know  was 
a  true  minister  of  God.  But  the  awful  thought 
warns  me  of  what  I  must  do.  I  must  rouse  my 
self  to  act !  I  will  wait  till  morning.  If  Frank 
does  not  then  come,  I  will  search  the  city  through 
but  I  will  find  him.  If  he 'is  sick,  I  will  take  a 
wife's  place  at  his  bedside,  minister  to  his  every 
want  and  comfort.  If  he  is  dead  !  —  "  and  here 
her  voice  broke  into  a  sob,  "  I  will  mourn  him  as 
no  other  on  earth,  not  even  the  mother  who  bore 
him,  can  mourn  for  him.  But  if  he  be  false  ! " 
and  Minnie  drew  herself  up,  her  eyes  flashed  and 
her  bosom  heaved,  while  her  clinched  hand  was 
raised  to  heaven,  —  "  if  he  be  false,  then,  Frank 
Gildersleeve,  you  shall  do  me  justice,  acknowl 
edge  me  as  your  wife  before  God  and  man,  or 
learn  what  it  is  to  rouse  a  woman  most  basely 
wronged  and  most  cruelly  betrayed  !  " 

Throughout  that  night  Minnie  maintained  her 
weary  watch.  But  Frank  Gildersleeve  came  not. 
Morning  found  her  pale  and  weak.  She  had  not 
once  closed  her  eyes.  She  crept  to  the  bed  and 
lay  down.  Exhausted  nature  claimed  its  dues, 
and  she  slept.  It  seemed  more  like  a  lethargy 
than  natural  slumber. 


A    STARTLING   REVELATION.  259 

Hours  went  by,  and  still  she  lay  in  that  death 
like  trance.  At  last  some  sudden  sounds  —  what 
they  were  she  knew  not  —  startled  the  young 
girl  and  she  awoke.  But  the  lethargy  that  was 
upon  her  seemed  to  bind  every  nerve  and  limb. 
She  could  not  move,  and  the  next  instant  she 
thanked  God  in  her  heart  that  she  could  not  do  so. 

Minnie  had  partially  unclosed  her  eyes  lan 
guidly,  as  a  sick  person  awakes  from  the  effects 
of  an  opiate.  She  saw  the  chamber  door  slowly 
and  cautiously  move  on  its  hinges.  With  an 
impulse  which  she  could  not  have  explained  to 
herself,  she  again  shut  her  eyes,  and  seemed  as 
one  in  a  profound  slumber. 

The  next  instant  the  door  was  pushed  wider 
and  still  wider  open,  and  a  woman's  face  peered 
into  the  room.  Her  gross  and  evil-looking  coun 
tenance  wore  an  expression  of  anxiety  as  she 
scrutinized  the  motionless  form  upon  the  bed. 
After  a  moment  she  turned,  with  her  hand  still 
on  the  door,  and  said  in  a  whisper  to  some  person 
in  the  passage-way, — 

"  She  is  still  asleep.  Just  the  same  as  I  left 
her  an  hour  ago  when  I  sent  for  you.  I  tell  yer, 
doctor,  I  'm  just  scnrt !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  responded  the  other.  "  Scart  at 
what  ?  Here  !  Let  me  take  a  look  at  her  !  " 

And  pushing  the  ogress  aside,  Dick  Forceps 
tiptoed  into  the  room. 


260  MINNIE   DESEKTED. 

v  By  George  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  believe  you 
are  right,  after  all !  " 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  exclaimed  the  woman, 

less    cautiously   than    before.      "You've   got  me 

into  a  pretty  scrape,  Dick  Forceps.     If  the  gal 's 

'  gone  and  died  on  my  hands.,  it  '11  ruin  my  business 

completely." 

"  Pshaw  !  If  she  's  dead  you  've  had  no  hand 
in  it ;  so  you  need  n't  fret." 

f  That  's  true,  but  it  'II  cause  an  inquest," 
•whined  the  harridan,  "and  that'll  be  just  as  bad. 
It  will  expose  me  all  the  same." 

"No,  it  won't.  We  can 'fix  that  alt  right, 
Mother  Ripley,"  said  Forceps,  reassuringly.  "  If 
she's  dead,  why  she  pegged  out  from  natural 
causes,  unless  —  " 

Forceps  paused  suddenly. 

"  Unless  what  ?  "  demanded  Mother  Ripley. 
'  Xo  matter,"  said  the  dentist,  shortly. 

"  But  it  doe*  matter,"  retorted  the  virago.  "  I 
know  well  enough  what  you  was  a-goin'  ter  say. 
You  was  goin'  ter  say,  r  Unless  the  man  that 
brought  her  here  had  given  her  a  dose  of  something 
or  ruther.'  Hang  me  for  a  witch,  if  that 's  the 
case  I  '11  make  him  sweat  for  it,  sure  's  my  name  's 
Jane  Ripley." 

"You're  mistaken  there,"  hastily  said  Forceps. 
"  Frank  Gildersleeve  's  too  chicken-hearted  for 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  261 

anything  of  that  kind.  No  doubt  he  'd  be  glad  to 
get  rid  of  the  girl,  but  he  has  n't  got  the  grit  to 
use  any  foul  means.  But  see  ;  we  're  wrong.  The 
girl  is  merely  asleep,  after  all.  Look  !  her  bosom 
rises  and  falls  naturally  enough." 

"  Well,  I  declare  you  may  set  me  down  as  a 
natural-born  ! "  said  Mother  Ripley ,  greatly  relieved 
as  she  perceived  what  Forceps  had  said  was  true. 
She  had  been  deceived  on  entering  Minnie's  cham 
ber,  not  understanding  the  cause  of  her  protracted 
sleep.  The  woman's  apprehensions  were  easily 
excited,  and  as  she  saw  how  still  and  death-like 
the  girl  lay,  she  had  in  her  alarm  despatched  ail 
urgent  message  for  Dr.  Forceps. 

"  The  fellow  '11  have  ter  pay  for  this  fright  with 
all  the  rest,  Dick,"  she  said,  with  a  chuckle. 

"All  right,  that's  your  concern.  Only,  old 
lady,  we  go  halves  on  the  whole  thing,-  you 
understand." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  a  bargain  's  a  bargain." 

"And  you  needn't  fear  to  bleed  Frank  Gilder- 
sleeve,  either.  He  can  stand  it." 

"Oh,  he  can,  eh?"  echoed  the  woman  with  a 
greedy  leer.  "  He  's  a  high-flier,  then,  is  he?  " 

"You  bet." 

"Rich  as  a  Jew,  I  '11  be  bound." 

"  If  he  ain't  his  father  was,  and  that 's  the  same 
thine." 


262  MINNIE    DESERTED. 

"  Come,  now,  Dickey,"  said  the  woman,  coax- 
ingly,  "tell  us  who  this  young  greenhorn  is, — 
where  he  lives,  all  about  him,  in  short." 

"  That 's  none  of  your  concern,"  answered  For 
ceps,  his  manner  changing;  '"and  it's  no  part  of 
our  bargain,  either.  He  '11  pay  the  bill  when  the 
desired  services  are  rendered.  I  '11  see  to  that. 
That  is  all  you  need  to  have  any  interest  in." 

"Well,  you  are  master  here,  Dick,  and  it 's  my 
place  to  obey  orders.  But  I  think  from  what 
you  Ve  let  out,  that  I  could  make  a  pretty  good 
guess  who  this  young  swell  is.  Of  course,  that 
yarn  about  his  being  a  partner  of  yours  is  all 
bosh." 

Forceps  looked  keenly  at  his  companion. 

"Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  "if  you  know  or  sur 
mise  anything,  Mother  Ripley,  it 's  for  your  inter 
est  to  keep  it  to  yourself." 

"You  don't  s'pose  I'd  mention  it  to  anybody 
but  you,  doctor?"  whined  the  woman  in  an 
injured  tone.  "  Of  course  I  would  n't.  But 
between  ourselves,  you  know,"  she  added,  "  when 
you  intimated  that  the  young  fellow  was  so  rich, 
it  just  flashed  over  me  that  he  was  a  son  of  rich 
old  Gildersleeve  up  there  on  the  Hill,  and  —  " 

"  Hush ! "  said  Forceps,  in  a  startled  whisper, 
pointing  to  the  bed,  as  Minnie  made  a  sudden 
movement  at  this  announcement. 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  263 

In  fact,  the  young  girl,  lying  there  so  admi 
rably  counterfeiting  deep  sleep,  hud  overheard 
nearly  every  word  of  this  conversation. 

Her  sensations  at  the  intelligence  may  be 
imagined. 

A  moment  more  and  she  heard  the  door  closed. 
Then  she  opened  her  eyes  and  found  that  she  was 
alone. 

For  a  few  minutes  Minnie  lay  still  and  silent. 
Her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears.  Her  bosom 
heaved  and  tossed  with  the  excess  of  her  grief 
and  agony.  The  veil  had  been  torn  aside.  She 
knew  that  she  had  been  deceived.  Her  idol  had 
been  shattered. 

Yes,  she  knew  it  all  now.  Frank  Gildersleeve 
had  wilfully,  cruelly,  wantonly  abandoned  her. 

"But  for  all  that,"  she  cried,  rousing  herself 
and  dashing  away  her  tears,  — "for  all  that,  I  am 
his  wife.  That  knowledge  shall  nerve  my  heart. 
Heaven  will  lend  me  strength.  For  my  parents' 
sake,  for  my  honor's  sake,  above  all,  for  the  sake 
of  my  unborn  child,  Frank  Gildersleeve  shall  be 
found. 

"  I  la  !  what  was  that  they  said  about  Frank  not 
being  the  dentist's  partner?  Oh!  The  villanous 
scheme  !  It  is  all  made  plain  to  me  now  !  He  is 
rich — his  father  lives  on  the  Hill  —  what  hill? 
Oh!  If  I  only  could  have  learned  that!  I  will 


264  MINNIE   DESEKTED. 

see  Dr.  Forceps,  —  he  will  tell  me.  But  no  ! 
Am  I  demented  ?  That  man  is  the  prime  mover 
of  all.  Yes  ;  it  was  he  who  has  led  Frank  on  to 
this  cruel  act !  No.  From  him  I  can  gain  no 
help.  But  there  is  One,''  she  added,  raising  her 
tear-dimmed  eyes  to  Heaven,  — "there  is  One  who 
will  lead  me.  One  who  will  see  justice  done  to  a 
poor  innocent  girl !  " 

She  threw  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside, 
and  poured  out  her  soul  in  fervent  petition  for  aid 
to  that  Source  whose  ear  is  never  deaf  to  the 
supplications  of  the  humble  and  the  pure  in  heart. 

fortified  and  strengthened  in  her  resolution, 
Minnie  Marston,  though  still  weak  and  ill,  hastily 
put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  to  sally  out  on  her 
quest. 

But  alas  !  on  attempting  to  leave  the  house, 
she  was  rudely  repulsed.  Madame  Chastini  told 
her  she  could  not  depart,  and  threatened  direful 
things  on  her  head  if  she  tried  to  escape.  Minnie 
returned  to  her  room  broken-hearted. 

For  three  days  Minnie  Marston  was  a  prisoner 
in  that  house.  For  three  long,  weary  days  she 
watched  for  Frank's  return.  Oh  !  what  anguish 
she  suffered.  Faint  and  sorrowful,-  she  scarcely 
dared  touch  food,  for  fear  of  it  containing  some 
poisonous  drug.  At  last  in  despair,  Minnie  roused 
herself,  and  again  endeavored  to  escape  from  the 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  265 

house.  She  found  the  doors  barred  and  the  in 
mates  on  the  watch. 

"  Oh  !  Let  me  out !  Let  me  out !  "  pleaded 
Minnie,  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Oh  !  do  not  keep 
me  in  this  vile  place  !  " 

But  Minnie  was  rudely  pushed  back  into  her 
room,  and  told  to  keep  quiet  or  it  would  be  the 
worse  for  her.  Minnie  threw  herself  jon  the  bed 
and  sobbed  aloud. 

At  length  she  went  to  the  window,  thinking  she 
might  see  some  one  and  call  for  help.  A  little 
child  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  looking  up  at  the 
house.  With  a  swift  hope  in  her  heart,  she 
opened  the  window  and  beckoned  to  the  child. 

"  Oh,  little  girl !  have  you  a  mother?  "  she  cried, 
in  a  hushed  tone,  her  heart  in  a  flutter. 

The  little  child  nodded  wonderingly. 

"  Then,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  fly  home  !  Tell 
your  mother  I  am  a  prisoner  in  this  house  Oh  ! 
beg  her  to  come  and  help  me  out !  " 

The  child  hastened  home.  Told  her  mother 
that  Minnie  was  held  against  her  will.  The 
mother  came  to  the  house,  and  even  the  neighbors 
became  aroused. 

"You  have  a  girl  imprisoned  here,"  said  the 
mother  to  Madame  Chastini.  "Let  her  go,  or  I 
shall  appeal  to  the  authorities." 

Madame  C'haslini  bowed  and  simpered. 


26()  MINNIE    DESE11TED. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said.  "  There  is  no  girl  impris 
oned  in  this  house." 

"Yes,  there  is,"  returned  the  woman.  "Let 
her  go  at  onee,  or  you  will  see  trouble." 

After  this  threat,  Madame  Chastini  dared  not 
hold  Minnie  against  her  will.  And  with  apologies 
and  smiles,  let  her  again  go  out  into  the  wide,  cold 
world. 

Minnie  Marston  was  once  more  free.  But 
whither  should  she  turn  her  steps  ? 

Alas  !  She  was  alone  in  the  desert  of  a  great 
city  ! 

What  should  she  do?  Where  was  Frank? 
Was  she  really  married?  These  thoughts  surged 
wildly  upon  her  troubled  mind. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said  to  herself,  "  if  I  could  only 
find  the  minister  that  married  me  !  If  I  could 
only  learn  whether  it  was  a  marriage  or  a  cruel 
mockery  !  " 

And  with  tear-blinded  eyes  and  sorrowful  heart, 
Minnie  stumbled  along  the  streets  iii  despair  as  to 
which  way  to  turn.  Suddenly  a  thought  came  to 
her. 

"I  remember,  now,"  she  said,  pressing  her  cold 
hand  to  her  forehead,  — "I  remember  the  minister 
that  Frank  took  me  to  lived  near  a  church.  Oh  ! 
if  I  could  only  find  the  place  !  " 

Minnie,  weak  and  weary,  searched  street  after 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  2f>7 

street,  looking  iit  the  houses  ;md  on  the  doors, 
hoping  to  recall  the  house  she  had  been  taken  to 
on  her  wedding  eve. 

Coining  to  a  church,  she  gazed  at  it  long  and 
wonderingly. 

"Can  this  be  near  where  I  was  married ?"  she 
said  to  herself. 

And  Minnie  looked  around,  and  tried  to  recall 
some  appearance  of  the  locality  that  was  familiar 
to  her.  But  in  vain.  All  was  wholly  new  and 
strange  to  her  troubled  senses. 

She  looked  on  the  doors  of  the  houses  to  see  if 
a  minister  lived  near  the  church. 

Meeting  a  clergyman  going  into  his  house, 
Minnie  asked,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  Oh,  sir ! 
did  you  marry  me  ?  " 

But  alas  !  he  had  never  seen  her  before,  and 
could  give  her  no  hope. 

On,  on  she  faltered  along  the  sidewalks,  striv 
ing  to  keep  down  the  fast-rising  tears  that  flowed 
to  her  eyes.  "Oh!  mother!  father!"  she  cried 
in  agony  ;  "  will  you  ever  forgive  me  !  Ever  take 
me  to  your  hearts  again  !  " 

Soon  she  came  to  a  church  on  the  corner  of  two 
streets.  Minnie  stopped  and  tried  to  think  if  she 
had  ever  before  seen  it.  A  boy  was  playing  on 
the  sidewalk. 

"Little  boy,"  said  Minnie,  "can  you  tell  me 
whose  church  is  this  ?  " 


268  MINNIt,    DESERTED. 

The  boy  gazed  solemnly  into  Minnie's  sad  face 
as  he  gave  the  minister's  name. 

Minnie  thanked  him,  and  looked  along  the  street 
to  find  the  house  where  the  clergyman  lived. 
Soon  she  came  to  it.  But  alas  !  poor  Minnie's 
courage  deserted  her,  and  she  dared  not  ring  the 
bell.  The  house,  the  place,  all  looked  strange  to 
her  ;  and  she  thought  to  herself,  "  Oh  !  it  cannot 
be  here  Frank  took  me  !  " 

And  discouraged  and  down-hearted,  she  gave 
way  to  her  grief  and  despair  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

Suddenly  she  thought  of  Madame  Chastini's 
remark  that  perhaps  Frank  "  was  the  son  of  rich 
old  Gildersleeve  up  on  the  hill."  Minnie's  heart 
fluttered  wildly,  and  a  new  hope  dawned  upon 
her  mind. 

"  What  hill  did  Madame  Chastini  mean  ? "  she 
kept  asking  herself  as  she  threaded  the  busy 
streets.  "Up  on  the  hill!  Up  on  the  hill!" 
These  words  rung  continually  in  her  ears,  and  yet 
she  could  find  no  solution  to  the  problem. 

"Look  out  dar,  young  Missy,"  said  a  voice  in 
her  ear,  while  a  hand  forcibly  laid  on  her  shoulder 
drew  her  back  just  in  time  to  escape  being  trodden 
down  by  the  horses  of  an  omnibus. 

Minnie  had  reached  the  corner  of  Summer  and 
Washington  Streets.  The  traffic  of  the  clay  w;is 
at  its  height.  At  this  corner,  horse-cars,  coaches, 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  269 

teams,  and  humanity  ever  seem  to  be  mixed  np  in 
an  inextricable,  interminable  mass.  Two  police 
men  tind  their  hands  full  in  striving  to  undo  this 
Gordian  knot,  and  piloting  timid  ladies  safely 
across  the  Rubicon.  In  her  abstraction,  Minnie 
had  become  involved  in  the  struggling  throng. 
The  policemen  were  busy,  and  did  not  notice  her 
as,  in  trying  to  evade  the  prancing  horses  of  a 
fashionable  coupe,  she  darted  directly  in  the  way 
of  an  on-coming  omnibus.  Another  moment  and 
our  heroine  would  have  been  trampled  beneath 
the  horses'  feet.  But  help  was  at  hand.  Our  col 
ored  friend  Sambo,  crossing  the  street  in  the  nick 
of  time,  saw  the  young  girl's  danger. 

fr  Guess  yer  's  not  much  'quainted  in  dis  yer 
city,  Missy,"  Sambo  said,  after  having  seen 
Minnie  safely  to  the  opposite  sidewalk.  "De 
noise  an'  confusion  kinder  'wilders  yer,  I  spec." 

In  truth,  the  girl  looked  very  pale  and  fright 
ened,  as  well  she  might. 

"  I  have  indeed  been  in  Boston  but  a  short  time, 
sir,"  she  answered,  with  a  hesitating  manner, 
almost  unconsciously  walking  along  beside  Sambo, 
as  lie  took  his  way  up  Winter  Street. 

Sambo  looked  into  the  sweet  young  face,  and 
saw  by  its  expression  that  there  was  some  question 
she  would  fain  ask. 

"Kin  I  be  of  any  sarvice  ter  ye,  Missy?"  he 

\ 


270  MINNIE    DESERTED. 

asked.  "Ef  so,  don't  ye  go  fur  to  hesitate  tor 
say  so.  I  'se  ready  ter  do  anythin'  posserble  fur 
<]<•  sake  ob  yer  sweet,  innercent  face.  I  'clar  ter 
gracious,  yer  puts  me  so  much  in  mind  ob  my  ol' 
massa's  darter  way  down  Souf — she  hed  jes'  serh 
a  pretty,  saint-like  look  in  her  blue  eyes  dat  you 
hab,  Missy,  in  yourn  —  dat  it  would  be  jes'  a 
pleasure  fur  me  ter  help  yer  in  yer  distress  :  fur 
I  can't  help  a-seein'  dat  you  is  in  distress.  So 
yer  jes'  tell  ol'  Sambo  widout  any  fear  what 's  on 
yer  min',  honey." 

"You  are  very,  very  kind,  sir,"  said  Minnie,  in 
a  tone  low  and  broken  by  emotion,  the  tears 
welling  to  her  eyes  at  this  unexpected  sympathy. 
"Perhaps  you  may  help  me.  Can  —  can  you  tell 
me  where  —  where  —  the  Hill  is  ?  " 

"De  Hill,  Missy?"  repeated  Sambo,  rubbing 
his  finger  meditatively  on  his  woolly  pate,  and 
looking  a  little  bewildered  at  the  question. 
"Why,  I  don't  tink  I  knows  'zactly  what  yer  mean. 
Yer  see,  Missy,  dar  's  so  many  hills  round  yere  —  " 

"  I  know  the  question  must  appear  ridiculous," 
said  Minnie,  "and  that  is  why  I  hesitated  to  ask. 
I  am  anxious  to  find  a  family  who  reside  on  r  the 
Hill.'  My  hopes,  my  happiness,  perhaps  my  life 
itself  may  depend  on  it ;  but  not  till  now  did  I 
realize  how  difficult,  how  all  but  hopeless  my 
search  must  be  in  such  a  large  city  as  this." 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  271 

There  was  a  pathetic  cadence  to  her  voice  that 
touched  Sambo's  benevolent  heart  to  its  depths. 

"Cheer  up,  Missy,"  he  said,  tenderly. 

They  had  reached  the  Common  by  this  time, 
and  the  good-hearted  colored  man,  noticing  how 
weak  and  fatigued  she  was,  induced  Minnie  to  sit 
down  on  a  bench,  while  he  remained  standing 
before  her  in  an  attitude  of  respectful  attention. 

"  Cheer  up,  Missy,"  he  continued.  "  Don't  ye  go 
fur  ter  be  cast  down.  Let  me  tink  a  minute. 
Dere  's  so  many  hills,  as  I  was  a-sayin',  about  Bos 
ton.  Dere  's  Copp's  Hill  down  ter  Norf  End,  den 
dere  's  Fort  Hill,  and  here  right  afore  us  yer  see 
Beacon  Hill.  Dis,  yer  see,  is  whar  de  airy- 
stocky  sy  libs." 

"The  aristocracy,"  repeated  Minnie  to  herself. 
"  Perhaps  this  is  the  hill  that  Madame  Chastini 
meant.  Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  eagerly,  "something 
assures  me  that  Beacon  Hill  is  the  place  where  I 
must  commence  my  search." 

"  Ef  dat  is  so,"  said  Sambo,  with  heightened 
interest,  "  den  I  'se  jes'  de  man  dat  kin  help  yer, 
honey.  I  knows  mos'  eberybody  up  dar.  Yer 
jes'  tell  me  de  name  ob  de  fam'bly,  and  ef  dey 
libs  on  Beacon  Hill  I  kin  jes'  tell  yer  all  about 
'em." 

But  Minnie  at  this  intelligence  assumed  a  sud 
den  reserve.  Some  feeling  prompted  her  not  to 
divulge  too  much  to  this  stranger. 


272  MINNIE    DESERTED. 

"You  live,  then,  in  this  neighborhood?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yis,  honey  ;  right  up  dur  on  de  hill.  Do  yer 
see  de  chimbleys  ob  dat  ar  house  —  right  dar  froo 
de  trees,  tudder  side  ob  de  dome  ob  de  State 
House  ?  " 

Minnie  followed  the  direction  of  his  extended 
finger,  and  nodded  an  assent. 

"AVal,  dar's  whar  ol'  Sambo  libs.  Dat's  de 
Gildersleebe's  family  mansion.  A  mighty  fine 
house  it  ar',  too,  Missy.  Ben  in  de  fam'bly  dis 
bunded  year,"  added  Sambo,  with  the  pride  of  an 
old  and  attached  servant. 

rf  What  —  what  was  the  name  you  mentioned  ?  " 
said  Minnie,  tremblingly,  but  suppressing  the 
emotion  which  she  felt  at  the  negro's  words. 

"  Grildersleebe.  Dat 's  de  name  ob  my  missus. 
Poor  ol'  Massa  Gildersleebe,  he  's  dead  and  gone  ! 
He  war  a  mighty  good  massa  to  ol'  Sambo,  dough 
he  wa'n't  jes'  'zactly  a  saint,  Missy.  De  good 
Lor'  hah  mercy  on  him  !  But  yer  don't  seem 
bcry  well,  honey,"  Sambo  added  in  alarm, 
noticing  now  the  sudden  flush  on  the  young  girl's 
cheeks,  and  the  feverish  brilliancy  which  had  come 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  feel  better,  much  better  than  I  did. 
Xo\v  that  I  have  rested  I  will  not  trouble  you  any 
more,  sir.  For  your  kindness  to  a  poor  and 
stricken  girl  I  shall  ever,  ever  be  grateful !  " 


A    STARTLING    REVELATION.  273 

Her  voice  weakened  with  the  closing  words, 
and  taking  Sambo's  hard,  horny  hand  in  her  soft 
and  delicate  one,  she  pressed  it  gratefully,  and 
before  the  surprised  negro  could  utter  another 
word,  she  abruptly  left  him. 

"  Clare  ter  gracious,  dere's  somefin'  de  matter 
wid  dat  poor  chile,"  said  Sambo  to  himself,  watch 
ing  her  for  a  moment  until  she  was  lost  to  sight. 
"  Ha  !  She  neber  tole  me  de  name  ob  de  people 
she  war  sarchin'  fur,  arter  all.  Dat's  cur'ous, 
mighty  cur'ous."  And  shaking  his  head  and  mut- 
teiijig  thoughtfully  to  himself,  Sambo  went  on 
his  way. 

Meantime  Minnie  Marston  sped  aimlessly  along 
the  shady  paths.  Unconsciously  she  approached 
the  place  where  on  that  Sunday  evening  months 
ago  she  had  first  met  Frank  Gildersleeve.  Once 

o 

more  she  seated  herself.  Suddenly  she  recognized 
the  surroundings,  and  a  swift  tide  of  both  happy 
and  bitter  recollections  surged  upon  her  mind. 

"  Oh  !  If  I  had  never  seen  him,"  she  murmured. 
But  other  thoughts  soon  prevailed.  The  courage 
which  had  sustained  her  hitherto,  suddenly  failed 
her  when  Sambo  mentioned  the  Gildersleeves. 
At  the  moment,  she  shrank  from  pursuing  her 
purpose.  Her  natural  delicacy  and  timidity  en 
hanced  her  dread  of  the  ordeal  through  which  she 
would  be  compelled  to  pass. 

18 


274  MINNIE    DESERTED. 

How  could  she  meet  Frank?  How  meet  his 
mother?  No  doubt  a  cold,  haughty,  fashionable 
woman.  How  could  she — the  poor,  unsophisti 
cated  country  girl  —  demand  of  this  proud  society 
woman  recognition,  redress,  and  protection  ?  These 
were  her  first  reflections ;  but  when  she  thought 
of  her  husband's  baseness,  of  her  own  destitute 
situation,  and  the  extreme  and  peculiar  necessity 
which  urged  her  for  her  own  self-protection  to 
falter  not,  all  her  courage  came  back.  She  rose 
hastily  from  the  bench. 

"  Yes,  I  will  confront  these  people  in  their  very 
parlors,  ay,  if  they  were  crowded  with  fashion 
able  guests.  Why  should  I  fear?  I  am  an  honest, 
upright  woman.  In  God's  sight  I  have  sinned 
not,  unless  it  were  in  my  weak  and  almost  idola 
trous  worship  of  one  whom  I  now  know  to  be  the 
basest  and  wickedest  of  mankind.  Oh  !  How  he 
did  plead  for  my  forgiveness  when  he  found  I 
would  not  tamely  submit  to  my  wrongs  !  How 
fervently  he  vowed  that  he  would  marry  me, 
cherish  me  with  all  the  fondness  of  a  husband's 
devoted  love  !  I  forgave  him,  —  and  this  is  how 
he  has  kept  his  word  !  It  would  be  weak,  foolish, 
criminal  to  let  him  longer  enjoy  his  fancied  secu 
rity  !  No  !  I  will  not  do  it !  You  shall  acknowl 
edge  me  as  your  wife,  Frank  Gildersleeve,  to 
your  family  and  to  the  world  !  " 


A   STARTLING   REVELATION.  275 

How  little  did  she  know  her  strength  of  pur 
pose  !  How  soon  was  she  to  learn  the  lesson  of 
the  world,  that  even  the  course  of  justice  must 
bide  its  time  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MINNIE    AND    MRS.    GILDERSLEEVE.  —  MOTHER    AND 
SON. 

ON  entering  the  Gildersleeve  mansion  Sambo 
was  met  in  the  hall  by  Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  maid. 

"Missus  is  all  of  a  fret  because  you've  been 
gone  so  long,  Sambo,"  she  said.  "You'd  better 
hurry  up.  Perhaps  she  won't  give  you  a  piece 
of  her  mind,  nor  nuthin'." 

And  with  a  toss  of  her  head  and  a  knowing 
smile,  the  pert  maid  went  to  her  mistress'  boudoir 
announcing  Sambo's  return. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  was  not  in  a  particularly 
amiable  mood.  Several  things  that  day  had  gone 
wrong  with  her.  The  strange  change  in  Ger 
trude's  manner  secretly  worried  and  perplexed 
her.  Frank's  conduct  added  its  sting.  His 
recent  dissipations  had  become  noised  abroad, 
despite  every  precaution  that  had  been  taken  to 
conceal  them.  Only  the  previous  night,  while  she 
was  entertaining  several  guests  at  supper,  the 
young  man  had  staggered  into  the  room  in  a  state 
bordering  on  beastly  intoxication.  This  was  the 


MOTHER   AND    SON.  277 

crowning  cup  in  the  mother's  vexations.  Pecca 
dilloes  she  could  have  overlooked.  According  to 
her  creed  a  young  man  of  Frank's  standing  in 
society  might  be  guilty  of  many  a  trifling  lapse  in 
morals,  and  no  harm  done.  A  woman  of  the 
world,  she  had  been  taught  to  pass  over  in  silence 
much  in  the  conduct  of  men  that  would  meet  the 
stern  moralist's  bitterest  denunciation.  But  to 
see  her  own  son  besotted;  and,  worse  than  all, 
that  he  should  make  an  exhibition  of  himself 
before  her  guests,  was  touching  her  strongest 
prejudice,  —  her  family  pride. 

"  This  condition  of  things  has  reached  its  limits," 

she  said  to  herself.     "  To  see  my  son  a  drunkard 

is  more  than  I  can  bear.     I  have  been  too  lenient. 

Henceforth,  I  shall  resort  to  harsher  measures.     I 

will  have  an  immediate  understanding  with  Frank. 

He  shall  live  like  a  rational  being,  if  he  remains 

an  inmate  of  my  house.     Otherwise,  I  will  have 

him  placed  under  restraint.     Yes,  it  is  clearly  my 

duty  as  a  mother,  responsible  for  her  son's  welfare, 

to  put  a  check  to  his  wasteful  and  sottish  career." 

r    Ah,  proud,  worldly  woman  !     Why  had  you  noif" 

\  thought  of  this  before?     Why  not  have  checked 

\.thc  ruin  ere  it  was  too  late? 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  her  maid  entered, 
followed  by  Sambo.  The  latter  had  been  sent  to 
the  family  lawyer  to  request  him  to  call  on  Mrs. 


278  MINNIE    AND    MRS.    GILDEUSLEEVE. 

Gildcrsleeve,  with  reference  to  some  matters  con 
nected  with  her  late  husband's  still  unsettled 
estate. 

"You  have  been  gone  a  long  time,"  she  said,  as 
Sambo  entered.  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  was  too  well 
bred  ever  to  raise  her  voice  even  when  angry  ;  but 
she  had  a  way  of  rendering  her  words  mercilessly 
cold  and  severe,  which,  aided  by  the  flashing 
glance  of  an  eye,  left  her  inferiors  uncomfortable 
for  hours  afterwards. 

"Beg  pardon,  missus,"  said  Sambo,  nowise 
daunted  by  the  usual  signs  of  his  mistress's  dis 
pleasure.  "Marsa  Vellum  war  away  when  I  got 
ter  de  offis,  so  I  waited  an'  waited  till  he  kim 
back.  He  say  he  be  happy  to  wait  on  yer  dis 
ebening." 

"Very  well;  you  can  go.  Victorine,"  Mrs. 
Giklcrsleeve  added,  turning  to  the  maid,  "there's 
a  ring  at  the  door.  Let  me  know  who  it  is. 
And,  Victorine,  tell  the  footman  that  I  am  at 
home  to  nobody,  — positively  nobody,  this  after 
noon." 

In  a  moment  the  girl  returned. 

"Please,  ma'am,  it's  a  young  woman." 

"A  young  woman!'"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve, 
with  a  stare  of  haughty  surprise.  "Recollect 
yourself,  Victorine.  A  young  lady  you  mean/' 

"  Beggin'  your  parding,  missus,  it 's  a  young 
woman." 


I 

MOTHER    AND    SON.  279 

"  A  young  woman,  and  at  the  front  door  !  " 

"Yes 'in.'  James  told  her  to  go  round  to  the 
servants'  entrance  if  she  wanted  anything." 

"  And  very  properly,  too,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  But  please,  ma'am,  she  begged  very  earnestly 
to  see  Mrs.  Gildersleeve." 

"To  see  me!"  repeated  Mrs.  Gildersleeve, 
elevating  her  eyebrows  as  if  incredulous  at  such 
an  unheard-of  piece  of  audacity. 

"Yes'm." 

"  And  what  reason  did  she  give  for  making 
such  a  request?" 

"Please,  ma'am,  she  said  as  how  she  had  some- 
thin'  very  particular  to  say  to  you." 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  reflected  an  instant. 

"  Probably  she  has  come  on  some  charitable 
mission.  Tell  the  young  woman,  Victorinc,  that 
it  will  really  be  impossible  for  me  to  attend  to 
her  to-day.  My  charity  days,  you  may  remind 
her,  are  Tuesdays,  and  in  the  morning." 

The  maid  again  went  out,  but  almost  imme 
diately  returned.  • 

"Please,  ma'am,"  said  Yictorine,  tossing  her 
head,  "the  young  woman  persists  in  seeing  you. 
She  says  she  don't  come  for  charity,  and  what  she 
wants  to  see  you  for  is  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  yourself." 

"  Yery  well,  Yictorine,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve, 


280  MINNIE.    AND    MRS.    GILDERSLEEVE. 

with  a  sigh  of  resignation,  and  rising  from  the 
luxurious  fauteuil  in  which  she  had  been  negli 
gently  seated  during  this  time,  "I  will  see  this 
very  troublesome  person.  You  may  show  her 
into  the  reception-room.  On  second  thoughts,  I 
think  you  had  better  show  her  into  the  dining- 
room." 

On  entering  the  apartment,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve 
stood  for  a  moment  apparently  struck  by  the 
beauty  and  grace  of  her  visitor,  for  that  visitor 
was  none  other  than  Minnie  Marston. 

Thus  these  two  women,  each  of  whom  was  to 
exercise  such  a  powerful  influence  on  the  future 
life  of  the  other,  met  for  the  first  time. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  was  an  observant  woman. 
She  saw  at  once  that  the  young  girl  before  her, 
though  simply  attired,  belonged  in  no  sense  to 
what  she  called  the  canaille. 

"  You  wish  to  see  me,  young  woman,  I  am 
told,"  she  said  in  her  stately  manner,  without 
seating  herself,  and  thereby  compelling  Minnie  to 
remain  standing. 

The  young  girl  was  deeply  impressed  by  Mrs. 
Gildcrsleeve's  appearance.  It  was  her  first  meet 
ing  with  this  type  of  woman.  She  had  read  in 
novels  of  ladies  who,  by  virtue  of  their  wealth  and 
social  position,  arrogated  to  themselves  the  airs, 
graces,  and  homage  of  a  queen ;  but  she  had  uc> 


MOTHER    AND    SON.  281 

idea  that  such  personages  actually  existed,  espe 
cially  in  democratic  America.  Yet  as  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  imposing  figure  of  Mrs.  Gildersleeve, 
on  her  gleaming  silks  and  costly  laces ;  as  she 
noticed  the  queenly  grace  and  dignity  of  her  car 
riage,  and  saw  the  clear-cut  features,  with  the  air  of 
classic  repose  which  dwelt  upon  them,  she  felt  a 
momentary  awe  and  confusion  that  made  it  im 
possible  for  her  to  answer  at  once. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  noticing  her  embarrassment, 
perhaps  insensibly  propitiated  by  it,  and  touched 
beside  by  some  spark  of  womanly  feeling, 
motioned  for  Minnie  to  be  seated.  She  then 
said,  — 

"  Do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me  what  has  occasioned 
this  visit.  I  believe  you  are  a  stranger  to  me.  I 
do  not  recollect  ever  having  seen  you  before." 

"  \o,  madam,"  replied  Minnie,  timidly,  "I  am, 
I  think,  an  utter  stranger  to  you." 

Her  soft,  sweet  voice,  and  the  modest,  downcast 
eyes,  impressed  the  haughty  woman  still  more 
favorably.  Her  manner  softened. 

"  Well,  my  child,"  —  how  Minnie's  heart  flut 
tered  at  this  endearing  term  !  —  "  take  time  to 
collect  yourself.  I  am  completely  at  your  ser 
vice.  My  servant  informed  me  that  your  com 
munication  was  of  personal  importance  to  myself." 

"  I  may  not  have   used  the  phrase  advisedly, 


282  MIXXIE    AND    MRS.    GILDEUSLEEVE. 

madam,"  replied  Minnie,  gradually  recovering  her 
ease.  "  It  will  be  for  you  to  judge." 

"You  do  not  come  to  solicit  charity,  I  was 
told?"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  encouragingly. 

"No,  madam.     I  came  for  —  for  justice." 

The  girl's  manner  changed.  She  was  now  on 
firm  ground.  The  memory  of  her  wrongs  steeled 
her  heart. 

At  the  wTord  "justice  "  Mrs.  Gildersleeve 
straightened  up  haughtily  in  her  chair.  She  had 
not  the  remotest  idea  of  what  this  girl  had  come 
to  say  to  her ;  but  instinctively  her  combativeness 
was  aroused. 

"  Justice  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,  madam,  justice !  " 

"Ah!  Perhaps  you  are  one  of  my  tenants. 
Your  parents  have  been  unable  to  pay  their  rent, 
and  my  agent  undoubtedly  has  been  somewhat 
exacting?  Is  such  the  case?  " 

"  Alas,  no  !  madam.  I  come  to  you  with  the 
hope  of  enlisting  your  sympathies  as  a  wife  and 
mother  in  the  cause  of  a  poor,  misguided,  but 
loving  girl." 

"  You  mean  that  you  have  been  unfortunate  ?  " 

"Yes,  madam;  very,  very  unfortunate.  If  to 
be  the  victim  of  a  wicked,  cruel  plot  —  if  to  be 
deceived  by  a  specious  scoundrel —  if  to  find  his 
promises  but  empty  words  —  his  oaths,  shameless 


MOTHER   AND   SON.  283 

perjuries  —  if  that  is  to  be  unfortunate,  then  I  am 
so  indeed ! " 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  at  these  pathetic  words, 
uttered  with  all  the  eloquent  feeling  of  a  heart 
moved  to  its  utmost  depths,  became  again  the 
hard,  worldly-minded  woman. 

"  I  may  commiserate  your  lot,"  she  said,  frigidly, 
"but  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  be  of  any  assist 
ance  to  you.  There  are  homes  and  houses  of 
refuge  provided  for  abandoned  women  who  desire 
to  reform ;  and  to  which  I  am  happy  in  being  a 
constant  contributor.  To  one  of  these  institutions 
I  would  recommend  you  to  apply." 

Minnie  heard  the  heartless  and  insulting  words 
like  one  in  a  dream.  Gradually  their  sense  and 
meaning  stole  upon  her  mind.  A  chill  like  that 
of  death  ran  through  her  veins,  and  then  indicia- 

O  O 

tion  sent  the  hot  blood  leaping  to  neck,  cheek, 
and  brow. 

Impetuously,  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  How  dare  you  draw  siu.-h  an  inference  as 
that,  madam!"  she  cried.  "What!  I,  daughter 
of  a  minister  of  God,  the  vile  thing  you  intimate  ! 
The  very  thought  is  degradation  —  the  words  an 
insult !  Madam,  in  the  name  of  everything  pure 
and  sacred  to  a  woman's,  a  wife's,  a  mother's 
nature,  take  back  those  wicked  words  !  " 

"This  —  this  is  very  strange  conduct !  "  gasped 


28  1  MINNIE    AND    MRS.    GILDKKSLEEVE. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  pale  and  angry.  "Do  you 
know,  young  woman,  whom  you  are  addressing 
in  this  insolent  manner?  And  in  my  own  house  ! 
I  will  tolerate  your  presence  no  longer.  My  ser 
vants  shall  show  you  to  the  door." 

And  the  haughty  woman,  for  once  moved  by 
natural  feeling  Ixeyond  her  usual  powers  of  self- 
control,  rose  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Stay,  madam  ! "  said  Minnie,  arresting  her. 
"Perhaps  when  you  learn  the  wrongs  that  stung 
me  to  that  which  you  term  insolence,  you  will 
find  some  excuse  for  my  impetuosity.  You  have 
a  son  —  " 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  turned  quick  as  lightning. 
In  those  four  words  the  significance  of  Minnie's 
presence  in  her  house  was  made  clear. 

"Do  you  know  my  son?  "  she  asked  sIoAvly. 

"Alas!  yes,  madam." 

K  And  you  dare,  brazen  creature  that  you  are,  to 
come  to  me  —  h  is  mother  —  with  the  tale  of  my 
son's  profligacy  and  your  own  shame  !  " 

"Again  you  mistake  me,  madam,"  said  Minnie, 
with  a  great  effort  choking  down  her  rising:  indig 
nation  at  this  second  undeserved  reproach.  -"Do 
you  see  aught  in  my  face  that  marks  me  as  the 
abandoned  wretch  you  name?  Are  these  poor 
garments  that  my  humble  means  alone  cart  afford, 
the  raiment  in  which  a  libertine  decks  out"  the 


, 


MOTHER    AND    SOX.  285 

partner  of  his  guilt?  Do  you  behold  upon  me  the 
glittering  gems  and  gewgaws  that  illicit  love 
exacts  as  its  tribute?  Madam,  I  am  not  your 
son's  mistress  ;  I  am  his  —  " 

"Hold!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  She 
had  listened  up  to  this  point,  still,  breathless 
almost  as  a  marble  statue.  She  knew  instinctively 
to  what  climax  the  young  girl's  words  were  tend 
ing.  "Say  not  another  word  now.  Wait." 

She  went  to  the  dining-table,  and  touched  a 
bell.  Sambo  appeared  at  the  door  in  answer  to 
the  summons.  His  eyes  opened  to  their  widest 
extent  as  he  beheld  the  young  girl  whom  he  had 
befriended ;  but  he  was  too  discreet  to  make  any 
remark. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Frank  that  I  Avish  to  see  him  in  this 
room.  And  be  sure  and  say  nothing  further." 

Sambo  bowed  and  retired. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  the  two  women  in 
the  interval.  At  length  footsteps  were  heard 
aproaching.  The  next  instant  Frank  Gildersleeve 
entered.  His  mother  stood  between  him  and 
Minnie.  He  therefore  did  not  at  first  perceive 
the  latter ;  but  he  saw  by  his  mother's  look  that 
something  unusual  had  occurred,  and  his  heart 
sank  within  him.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Gildersleeve 
moved  aside. 

"  Frank  ! " 


286  MINNIE    AND   MRS.    GILDEHSLEEVE. 

"  Minnie  ! " 

The  exclamations  were  simultaneous. 

"  So  you  do  know  this  girl,  Frank  Gildersleeve  ?" 
demanded  his  mother. 

"I  —  I  have  seen  her,  mother." 

"  Enough  !  "  Then  turning  to  Minnie  she  con 
tinued  :  "  You  claim  to  bear  some  honorable  rela 
tion  to  my  son  ?  " 

"I  do,"  was  the  low,  tremulous  reply. 

"Please  state  the  nature  of  that  relation." 

There  was  an  instant's  silence.  No  sound  but 
the  ticking  of  the  Ormolu  clock  on  the  mantel, 
the  faint  rustling  of  the  drapery  curtains  gently 
swaying  in  the  summer  wind,  or  the  beating  of 
their  own  hearts. 

It  was  an  instant  of  terrible,  agonized  suspense 
to  at  least  two  of  the  occupants  of  that  room. 
Then  came  the  words,  low,  distinct,  emphatic,  — 

"  I  am  his  wife." 

The  haughty  woman  of  the  world  fixed  her  eyes 
with  an  intense,  a  burning  gaze  upon  the  speaker. 

\That  thoughts,  — what  uneasy,  bitter  thoughts 
were  passing  in  her  mind  could  not  be  read  in  her 
impassive  countenance.  Minnie,  pale  and  fair  as 
a  lily,  her  fragile  and  delicate  figure  drawn  up  to 
its  full  height,  her  soft,  gazelle-like  eyes  meeting 
unflinchingly  the  haughty  gaze  that  was  bent  upon 
them ;  while  Frank  Gildersleeve  stood  with  eyes 


MOillEli    AXD    SOX.  287 

downcast,  his  limbs  trembling,  his  fingers  ner 
vously  interlocked,  the  very  picture  of  confused 
and  confounded  guilt. 

Such  was  the  tableau  which  continued  undis 
turbed  several  minutes  after  Minnie  had  uttered 
these  startling  words. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  lips  moved  once  or  twice, 
as  if  she  essayed  to  speak,  but  no  sound  followed 
the  motion.  Her  hand  stole  up  to  her  forehead, 
mid  swept  the  white  brow  as  though  some  crush 
ing  weight  rested  there,  which  she  vainly  sought 
to  brush  away.  At  length  she  seemed  by  an 
effort  to  regain  her  customary  self-poise,  and  to 
herself  she  murmured,  — 

"  I  do  not,  will  not  believe  it.  This  girl  is  an 
artful,  designing  creature,  and  her  claim  a 
trumped-up  one  to  extort  money  !  " 

But  though  she  said  this  to  herself,  it  was  .im 
possible  for  her  to  look  into  the  frank  and  fearless 
countenance  of  the  young  girl,  into  those  pure 
and  limpid  hazel  eyes,  without  seeing  that  truth, 
purity,  virtue,  those  jewels  of  a  woman's  soul, 
beamed  in  every  look,  were  written  in  every  line 
and  lineament  in  nature's  plainest  handwriting. 
She  gave  no  sign  of  the  impression  thus  produced, 
however,  but  turned  to  her  son,  and  then  made  a 
step  toward  him. 

"  Frank  Gildersleeve,"  she  said,  her  tones  un- 


288  MINNIE    AND    MRS.    G1LOEK8LEEVE. 

faltering,  and  clear  and  sharp  as  the  ring  of 
crystal, — "Frank  Gildersleeve,  you  bear  what 
this  girl  avers.  Is  it  true,  or  is  it  a  lie  ?  Are  you 
her  husband,  or  are  you  a  scoundrel,  a  villain,  a 
profligate,  as  well  as  a  gambler  and  a  drunkard?" 

Frank  trembled  like  an  aspen  at  these  severe 
and  ringing  tones.  His  lips  worked  convulsively. 
Great  drops  of  perspiration  beaded  his  brow. 
The  terrible  effects  of  his  dissipated  habits  were 
never  so  palpably  visible  as  now.  Minnie  was 
no  stranger  to  his  faults.  She  had  in  the  last  few 
months  frequently  seen  him  under  the  influence 
of  liquor.  She  had  plead  with  him  and  prayed 
for  him  time  out  of  mind,  —  but  in  vain.  Still, 
with  all  his  faults,  or  rather  despite  them,  she 
loved  him  ;  and  even  now,  knowing  how  cruelly 
he  had  intended  to  desert  her,  —  notwithstanding 
her  good  name  depended  on  the  word  of  this  weak 
and  vacillating  man,  that  the  cause  of  right,  jus 
tice,  and  her  woman's  honor  hung  trembling  in 
the  balance,  —  she  felt  a  great  pity  and  tenderness 
for  him  steal  upon  her  soul.  Her  eyes  grew 
humid ;  she  moved  a  step  or  two  toward  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve,  and  with  clasped  and  outstretched 
hands,  she  said,  — 

"Oh!  madam,  be  merciful  to  your  son.  Do 
not  brand  him,  here  in  the  presence  of  one  who 
loves  him  but  too  well  —  " 


MOTHER    AND    SON.  289 

But  the  cold,  proud  woman — outwardly  cold, 
though  her  bosom  was  a  seething  caldron  of  con 
flicting  emotions,  though  her  heart  was  torn  with 
bitterest  anguish  —  raised  her  hand  command 
ing!^. 

"Be  silent,  girl.  I  am  speaking  to  my  son! 
Answer  me,  Frank  Gildersleeve,  —  have  you  dared 
marry  this  woman  ?  " 

His  mother's  eye  was  upon  him.  He  would 
have  given  worlds  if  he  had  possessed  the  moral 
courage  to  stand  forth  and  take  Minnie  in  his 
arms,  and  boldly  proclaim  her  to  be  his  wife,  and 
tell  her  that  he  would  protect  her  against  every 
ill  of  life. 

How  fittingly,  he  thought,  as  he  looked  at  her, 
would  she  adorn  any  station,  even  the  most 
exalted  !  How  naturally  would  that  perfect  form 
take  on  and  set  oiF  the  elegant  appointments  of  a 
modish  costume ;  how  appropriately  would  dia 
monds  become  that  shapely  hand  with  its  taper 
fingers,  or  the  small  delicate  ears,  and  gleaming, 
milk-white  neck!  How  his  heart  now  yearned 
for  her !  How  proud,  thus  arrayed,  would  he 
have  been  to  introduce  her  to  all  upper  tendom,  and 
be  able  to  say,  "  See  !  Does  she  not  outshine 
you  all  ?  Is  she  not  a  true  patrician  by  right  of 
nature,  if  not  by  right  of  birth?" 

But  in  the  presence  of  his  mother,  under  the 


290  MINNIE    AND    MRS.    GILDERSLEEVE. 

quelling  eye  of  that  worldly  woman,  who  had 
domineered  over  him  from  his  cradle  with  a 
tyranny  that  warped  his  very  nature  and  repressed 
and  chilled  all  the  warm  and  generous  impulses 
of  his  soul,  he  dared  not  acknowledge  the  truth. 
And  so,  like  a  craven,  nerving  himself  to  the 
meanest  and  most  despicable  action  of  his  whole 
shameless  life,  he  said,  hoarsely  and  under  his 
breath, — 

"  This  girl  is  an  impostor.  Marry  her  !  Is  it 
likely,  mother,  that  a  Gildersleeve  would  stoop  to 
such  an  alliance  ?  " 

This  avowal  struck  terror  to  Minnie's  soul. 
She  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  caught  hold  of  the 
back  of  a  chair  to  save  herself  from  falling. 

"You  have  not  answered  my  question,"  said 
Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "  I  want  a  direct,  straight 
forward  reply." 

"Frank!  Frank!"  cried  Minnie.  "In  God's 
holy  name,  think  of  what  you  do  !  Oh  !  You  will 
not  surely  deny  — ' 

"Hush,  girl!"  interposed  the  imperious  voice 
of  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "  Now,  answer  me,  Frank 
Gildersleeve.  Did  you  or  did  you  not  marry  this 
girl?" 

«I_  did  —  not!" 

A  sigh  of  relief  from  the  mother,  but  from 
Minnie's  lips  came  an  indignant  cry.  All  the 


MOTHER   AND   SON.  291 

spirit  of  the  girl  was  roused.  She  strode  directly 
to  Frank  Gildersleeve,  and  looking  him  in  the 
eye,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Liar,  perjurer,  scoundrel !  Dare  you  stand 
here  in  the  presence  of  your  mother,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  woman  whom  you  sWore  to  love  and 
honor  as  your  wife,  —  in  the  presence  of  Almighty 
God,  who  heard  that  vow  and  recorded  it,  as  He 
now  hears  and  records  your  black,  shameless,  and 
cruel  -falsehood,  — dare  you  thus  stand  here  I  say, 
and  brave  Heaven's  judgment?  Oh,  Frank! 
Frank !  I  have  loved  you  with  the  purest  and 
tenderest  love !  I  have  prayed  for  you  when 
even  the  mother  who  bore  you  would  have  cursed 
you  and  cast  you  out  from  her  heart  and  home,  if 
she  knew  but  a  tithe  of  the  deep  dishonor  and 
monstrous  villany  of  which  you  have  been  guilty  ! 
I  have  found  excuses  for  you,  when  you  have  sub 
jected  me  to  the  cruellest  pain  and  anguish, — when 
you  have  wrung  my  heart  until  it  seemed  as  if  it 
must  break  or  that  I  must  go  mad  !  —  at  all  and 
every  stab  which  your  conduct  has  given  me,  I 
have  never  ceased  for  one  moment  to  love  you. 
Your  first  crime  against  me  I  forgave.  You 
kept  me  for  months  in  cruellest  torture  ere  you 
would  fulfil  your  promise  and  marry  me.  All 
that  I  forgave.  But  now,  now  that  you  foully 
seek  to  disown  that  marriage,  now  that  you 


292  MINNIE    AND    MRS.    GILDERSLEEVE. 

throw  upon  me  the  imputation  of  being  a  wanton 
and  an  outcast,  and  leave  not  only  on  my  name 
but  on  that  of  your  unborn  child  a  stigma  too 
foul  for  my  lips  to  utter, — you  shall  learn  that 
even  a  woman's  devotion  hns  its  limits.  To-day 
you  deny  me  justice ;  to-morrow,  Frank  Gilder- 
sleeve,  I  will  seek  it  with  the  strong  hand  of  the 
law  !  " 

"This  is  all  very  good  acting,  mother,"  the 
young  man  said,  with  a  mighty  effort  struggling 
for  composure.  "This  girl  evidently  has  mistaken 
her  vocation.  Her  art  would  command  a  high 
premium  on  the  stage.  Here,  pray  tell  her,  it  is 
entirely  thrown  away." 

This  speech  was  not  without  effect  on  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve.  It  almost  confirmed  her  doubts, 
and  inclined  her  strongly  to  believe  that,  however 
her  son  might  have  misused  this  girl,  he  had  at 
least  never  married  her.  To  her,  actuated  as  she 
was  by  motives  difficult  now  to  explain,  this  was 
unspeakable  relief.  A  cunning  thought  suggested 
itself  to  her. 

"You  talk  of  the  law,  wretched  girl!"  she 
said.  "We  shall  never  drive  you  to  that  ex 
tremity.  You  come  here  demanding  justice. 
You  shall  have  all  the  justice  which  you  can  show 
you  are  entitled  to.  People  in  our  position  of 
life  are  subject  to  much  imposition.  To  protect 


MOTHER    AND   SON.  293 

ourselves  we  are  compelled  to  accept  no  tale  of 
distress  without  the  accompanying  proofs  Xow, 
heed  well  what  I  have  to  propose.  You  claim 
that  my  son  married  you.  Well,  prove  it." 

She  paused.  Minnie  looked  at  her  in  bewilder 
ment.  Her  heart  quaked  with  a  new  and  unfore 
seen  terror. 

"  You  do  not  speak.  There  were  witnesses  to 
your  marriage,  if  married  you  were." 

"Indeed — indeed  there  Averc,  two  witnesses," 
cried  Minnie,  with  a  gleam  of  hope. 

"Very  well.  Bring  them  here  to  me.  Let 
them  confront  my  son." 

"  Alas  !  Alas  !  Madam  !  "  sobbed  the  stricken 
girl,  "I  never  saw  them  before  or  since.  I  do  not 
oven  know  their  names  !" 

"That  is  unfortunate,  but  still  not  beyond 
remedy.  You  know  the  clergyman's  name  who 
performed  the  ceremony  ?  " 

"  My  God  !  You  will  drive  me  distracted  !  " 
cried  Minnie.  "I  never  heard  his  name  spoken. 
I  do  not  know  him." 

There  was  a  cruel  gleam  in  Mrs.  Gildersleeve's 
eye. 

"Well,  even  that  does  not  make  your  case 
utterly  hopeless.  There  is  one  last  resort,  —  one 
final  article  of  proof.  Produce  that,  and  enable 
me  to  prove  its  validity,  and  my  son  shall  ac 
knowledge  you  as  his  wife." 


294  MINNIE    AND    MllS.    GILDERSLEEVE. 

"  Oh  !  speak  !  speak  !  madam  !  On  my  knees 
I  implore  you  to  name  this  last,  this  precious 
hope  ! " 

"  I  refer  to  your  marriage  certificate.  No  one 
can  be  legally  married  without  that.  What ! 
You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  no  certifi 
cate  ! " 

The  blow  fell  upon  the  poor  girl  with  crushing 
force.  She  could  not  speak.  Her  heart  seemed 
breaking. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  manner  changed.  Her 
brow  darkened.  She  struck  the  bell.  A  footman 
appeared. 

"James,  show  this  creature  to  the  door,  and 
never  at  your  peril  permit  her  again  to  come  into 
this  house  !  " 

And  poor  Minnie,  without  strength  to  utter 
a  word  in  protest,  without  spirit  left  to  say 
another  word  in  appeal,  tottering,  heart-broken, 
utterly  crushed,  was  led  to  the  door,  and  thrust 
rudely  out  upon  the  street. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

ROSE    DELANEY    IN    THE    TOILS.  —  PREPARATION    FOB 
A   JOURNEY. 

OXE  day  Father  Titus,  on  leaving  the  Gilder- 
sleeve  mansion,  where  he  had  been  holding  con 
versation  with  Gertrude,  took  his  way  across  the 
Common.  He  was  in  a  meditative  mood,  but  his 
reflections  were  suddenly  disturbed  by  a  well- 
known  voice  behind  him. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Father  Titus  !  " 

It  was  Rose  Delaney. 

"  AYhy,  Rose,  what  are  you  doing  down  here 
so  far  away  from  home?  "  asked  the  priest. 

"I  have  been  shopping,  and  I  wa.s  just  going 
home  when  I  saw  you  walking  along,  Father,  as  if 
your  thoughts  were  a  long  way  off." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you,  Rose,  and  I  was  also 
thinking  of  a  dear  friend  of  mine  whom  I  have 
left,  —  a  convert,  like  yourself,  to  our  holy  faith." 

"  Who  is  it,  Father?     Any  one  I  know?  " 

"Her  name  is  Gertrude  Gildersleeve.  She  is 
the  most  devout  convert  I  ever  saw.  I  expect 
eventually  she  will  enter  holy  orders." 


J 


296  ROSE    DELANEY   IN    THE    TOILS. 

"  Docs  she  belong  in  Boston  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  she  resides  with  her  parents  on  Bea 
con  Hill,  in  the  winter.  I  first  met  her  at  the 
Xotre  Dame  Academy,  of  which,  as  you  know, 
Rose,  I  am  the  Spiritual  Director.  Her  family 
don't  know  that  she  is  so  thoroughly  wrapped  up 
in  religion,  but  she  is  only  one  of  a  great  many 
others  who  have  secretly  espoused  the  church. 
Don't  you  wish  you  had  entered  a  holy  life, 
Rose?" 

"Xo,  indeed,  I  do  not,"  said  Hose,  tossing  her 
head.  "I  almost  lead  a  holy  life  as  it  is.  There 
is  John  in  the  church  all  the  time.  Then  do  I  not 
see  3*ou,  Father,  almost  every  day.  To  say  noth 
ing  of  going  to  the  church  and  its  surroundings  so 
frequently  to  see  my  husband/' 

"  That 's  a  fact,  Rose.  I  think  you  are  about  as 
good  as  a  great  many  I  know  who  are  in  holy 
orders.  By  the  by,  Rose,  I  wish  you  would 
come  in  vto  see  me  this  afternoon.  I  have  some 
thing  to  tell  you." 

That  afternoon  Rose  was  in  Father  Titus's  room 
at  the  appointed  time.  She  was  greeted  with  the 
usual  freedom  of  the  priest,  and  after  partaking 
of  a  glass  of  wine,  seated  herself  and  said,  — 

"Father,  I  bought  several  little  things  for  my 
self  this  morning,  and  here  is  a  little  present  J 
bought  for  you,"  producing  a  small  gold  tooth 
pick. 


PREPARATION  FOR  A  JOURNEY.       297 

"Rose,  you  are  too  thoughtful.  I  can  never 
forget  you.  How  I  wish  that  you  could  remain 
with  me  all  the  time." 

At  this  point  Father  Titus  moved  his  chair  close 
beside  Hose  and  put  his  arm  about  her  neck. 

*'  AVhy,  Father  Titus,  ain't  you  afraid  somebody 
will  come  in?'' 

"No,  my  dear,"  replied  the  priest,  kissing  her 
fondly.  "  They  would  not  dare  to  enter  my  room 
without  knocking." 

ff  Oh  !  dear,  if  my  husband  were  to  find  this  out 
he  would  kill  me  ! "  gasped  Rose,  in  a  tremor. 

"Never  fear,  Rose.  Your  husband  will  never 
know  it,  and  besides  what  he  does  not  know  will 
never  do  him  any  harm.  And  you  know  John 
has  been  reared  a  good  Catholic,  and  he  would 
never  dream  of  a  priest  doing  a  wrong.  So  we 
are  free  from  all  suspicion  on  the  part  of  your 
husband." 

"But,  Father  Titus,  the  servants  in  the  house 
know  that  I  come  to  your  room  every  day.  They 
might  suspect  something  wrong." 

"You  are  too  sensitive  on  that  point,  Rose. 
Don't  you  know  that  your  good  actions  in  attend 
ing  church,  going  to  confession  and  communion 
regularly,  place  you  above  suspicion?  /The  ser 
vants  or  any  one  else  would  not  dare  to  oreathe  a 
word  of  scandal  against  you." 


298  ROSE    DELANEY    IN    THE    TOILS. 

Rose  prepared  to  leave. 

"You  are  not  going  so  soon,  Rose?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  it  is  getting  late  and  I  want  to  see 
John  before  I  go  home." 

"Well,  come  here  and  kiss  me,  and  here  is  a 
little  present  for  yourself." 

After  complying  with  his  wishes,  Rose  '  re 
ceived  from  Father  Titus  a  roll  of  bills,  and  bid 
ding  him  good  by,  quitted  the  room. 

After  leaving  Father  Titus's  house  she  proceeded 
to  find  her  husband,  to  tell  him  of  her  good  fortune 
and  to  give  him  the  money  she  had  just  received. 
For  Rose  loved  her  husband  fondly,  and  was  only 
too  glad  to  meet  him  with  good  news. 

"  Well,  Rosie,  been  taking  a  walk  ?  "  asked  John 
as  Rose  met  him  at  his  work. 

"Yes,  John,  and  just  see  the  handsome  present 
I  received  from  Father  Titus.  I  did  n't  want  to 
take  it,  but  he  insisted.  He  is  so  good,  John,  I 
hope  you  will  do  everything  in  your  power  to 
please  him." 

"  Well,  you  can  just  rest  your  mind  easy  on 
that,  for  I  do  a  great  deal  more  now  than  I  need 
do,  but  he  is  so  kind  to  you,  I  feel  it  almost  a  duty 
I  owe  to  him  to  do  all  that  mortal  man  can.  And 
I  know  that  he  appreciates  it,  too." 

"Yes,  John,  he  speaks  about  you  every  time  I 
see  him  and  says  he  likes  you  ever  so  much." 


PREPARATION  FOR  A  JOURNEY.       299 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  can  ever  repay  him  for 
his  kindness  to  us.  But  you  had  better  go  home 
now,  Rosie,  and  get  tea  ready,  and  I  will  be  home 
early  and  we  will  go  to  the  theatre  to-night." 

And  Rose  and  John  Delaney  separated.  Rose 
to  go  home  to  her  little  family  with  her  shame 
burning  in  her  breast.  Many  a  time  the  thought 
would  arise  within  her  that  she  was  doing  wrong 
and  that  she  ought  to  tell  her  husband,  but  then 
she  thought  that  an  exposure  at  that  time  would 
sacrifice  her  husband's  situation.  fShe  would  con 
sole  herself  -with  the  assurance  that  Father  Titus 
gave  her,  that  "  what  your  husband  does  not  know 
will  never  do  him  any  harm,"  and  withheld  from 
him  the  secret  of  her  shame. 

There  was  no  happier  man  that  night,  on  his 
return  from  his  daily  labors,  than  John  Delaney, 
living  in  ignorance  of  his  wife's  shame.  His  home 
to  him  was  a  kingdom  and  he  the  king. 

"  Come,  Rosie,  let 's  have  tea  as  soon  as  possi 
ble  and  we  will  go  the  theatre.  You  know  I 
promised  you  this  afternoon." 

"I  know,  John,  but  I  don't  care  about  going. 
I  would  rather  stay  at  home  with  you  and  the 
children." 

"  Nonsense  !     Come,  there  is  no  time  to  waste." 

And  after  tea  was  over,  John  and  Rose  went 
together  to  the  theatre. 


300  ROSE    DELANEY    IN   THE   TOILS. 

The  next  day  Rose  paid  her  usual  visit  to 
Father  Titus. 

"Rose,  I  have  been  thinking  about  you  ever 
since  you  were  here  yesterday.  I  am  thinking 
about  going  to  Xew  York  next  week,  and  if  John 
would  allow  you  I  would  like  to  have  you  go  with 
me." 

"I  doirt  know,  Father  Titus,  that  he  would 
object ;  but  I  could  not  get  ready  to  go  next  week, 
us  I  have  nothing  to  wear." 

"  Xonsense.  You  get  his  permission,  and  every 
thing  else  will  be  attended  to.  Besides  it  will  do 
you  a  world  of  good,  to  have  a  change  of  air  and 
to  be  free  from  your  family  duties  for  a  little 
while." 

"  Y\'ell,  I  will  ask  John.  I  know  he  won't 
refuse,  and  I  would  like  to  go  very  much  indeed. 
When  do  you  propose  to  start  ?  " 

"A  week  from  to-morrow.  You  ask  John, 
and  then  come  and  see  me  to-morrow  morning, 
and  I  will  let  you  have  some  money." 

And  after  a  hasty  good  by,  as  Father  Titus 
had  company,  Rose  departed  with  a  fluttering 
heart  to  get  her  husband's  permission  to  accom 
pany  Father  Titus  to  New  York.  She  was  not 
long  in  finding  her  husband,  to  whom  she  related 
her  interview  with  Father  Titus.  John  Delaney 
at  first  refused  her  request. 


PREPARATION  FOR  A  JOURNEY.       301 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  object,  John.  I 
think  it  very  kind  and  thoughtful  of  Father  Titus 
to  ask  me  to  go  with  him.  Besides,  John,  you 
know  I  can  call  and  see  my  sister  and  cousins  in 
New  York." 

"  I  know  all  that,  Rosie,  but  who  is  going  to 
take  care  of  me  and  the  little  ones  while  you  are 
gone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you  can  take  care  of  yourselves 
for  three  days.  I  am  only  to  be  gone  that  length 
of  time." 

"  Well.  All  right.  You  can  go.  I  suppose 
I  can  stay  at  your  mother's  while  you  are  gone  ?  " 

"That 's  a  capital  idea,  John.  And  now  I  will 
run  in  and  tell  Father  Titus.  He  will  be  pleased, 
I  know." 

And  Rose  Delaney  left  her  husband  and  sought 
Father  Titus,  who  was  more  than  pleased  when  he 
heard  the  news.  Rubbing  his  hands  together  and 
laughing,  he  said,  "  So  John  said  that  you  might 
go  with  me?" 

"  Yes.  And  was  very  glad  to  think  that  I  had 
an  opportunity  of  going  to  New  York.  I  have  n't 
been  there  since  I  was  a  child." 

"  Well.  Hero  is  some  money.  I  want  you  to 
buy  the  nicest  dress  you  can  buy  in  Boston,  and 
whatever  else  you  want." 

"Oh  !  thank  you,  Father  Titus  !" 


302  ROSE   DELANEY   IN   THE    TOILS. 

And  Father  Titus  embraced  and  kissed  her, 
•when  she  departed  and  again  sought  her  husband, 
to  whom  she  handed  the  money  and  wished  him 
to  go  with  her  to  make  her  purchases,  which  he 
did. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SPIRITUAL     UNCLE     AND     NIECE. — A    VISIT    TO     NEW 
YORK. 

THE  week  of  preparation  previous  to  the  trip  to 
New  York  passed  away  very  quickly  to  John 
Delaney.  For  John  loved  his  wife,  and  he  did  not 
like  to  have  her  away  from  him.  He  looked 
sadly  forward  to  the  day  now  rapidly  approaching 
that  would  separate  them,  even  though  it  was  only 
for  three  days.  Rose  had  never  been  away  from 
home  before,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  was 
about  to  bid  her  a  long  farewell ;  that  she  was 
going  away  for  a  year  or  more,  instead  of  a  few 
days  only. 

While  the  time  was  flying  so  swiftly  with  John 
Delaney,  it  was  just  the  reverse  with  Father  Titus 
and  Rose.  Every  hour  seemed  a  day  to  them. 
During  the  week  Rose  was  busy  with  dressmakers, 
milliners,  and  shopkeepers  every  day,  buying 
dresses,  gloves,  kid  boots,  and  other  articles  to 
complete  a  lady's  outfit. 

The  morning  of  departure  at  length  arrived,  and 
many  were  the  farewells  that  Rose  received  from 


304  SPIRITUAL   UNCLE    AND   NIECE. 

her  family.  John,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  accom 
panied  his  wife  to  the  depot.  On  arriving  they 
met  Father  Titus. 

"Ah  I  Good  morning,  Eose.  You  are  on 
hand,  I  see,  bright  and  early.  And  I  declare  I 
never  saw  you  look  handsomer  in  my  life.  John, 
you  should  feel  proud  of  Rose. " 

'f  I  do,  Father  Titus ;  and  I  feel  sad  to  think 
that  she  is  going  away  at  all.  I  believe  if  I  had 
not  promised  her,  I  should  have  retracted  before 
now." 

"  Never  fear,  John.  I  will  take  good  care  of  her 
and  bring  her  safely  back  to  you.  I  will  write  to 
you  to-morrow  and  tell  you  all  about  our  trip,  and 
how  Rose  is  conducting  herself." 

"  Oh !  John  knows  that  I  will  conduct  myself 
properly,  and  that  I  am  in  good  hands,"  said  Rose, 
with  a  smile. 

"When  will  you  return,  Father  Titus  ?"  asked 
John. 

"  Friday  night.  You  can  have  a  carriage  at  the 
depot  to  meet  us.  "We  shall  arrive  about  six 
o'clock,"  said  Father  Titus. 

And  after  John  Delaney  had  seen  Father  Titus 
and  his  wife  comfortably  seated  in  a  parlor  car, 
he  waited  until  the  bell  rang  for  the  train  to  start, 
and  after  once  more  bidding  his  wife  and  Father 
Titus  good  by,  and  again  cautioning  the  reverend 


A   VISIT   TO   NEW   YORK.  305 

father  to  take  good  care  of  Kose,  he  watched  the 
train  move  slowly  out  of  the  depot,  taking  from 
him  the  person  he  loved  dearer  than  the  whole 
world. 

With  a  sigh  he  turned  away  and  started  to  see 
his  mother-in-law,  who  was  an  old  English  lady  of 
the  finest  type,  who  had  been  a  magnificent- 
looking  woman  in  her  young  days.  A  woman 
who  could  never  believe  a  wrong  in  any  person, 
and  who  had  a  pleasant  word  for  everybody. 
Such  a  mother-in-law  had  John  Delaney. 

"  Good  morning,  John.  I  suppose  you  have 
been  to  the  depot  to  see  Kose  off?  "  said  Mrs.  Ball 
as  John  entered  the  door.  "  Now  I  want  you  to 
sit  right  down  and  have  some  breakfast ;  you 
certainly  must  be  hungry  by  this  time." 

"Oh  no,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Ball.  I  am  not  hun 
gry.  I  will  be  in  to  dine  with  you  this  noon,  how 
ever.  How  are  the  babies  ?  do  they  annoy  you  ?  " 

"Not  at  all.  I  think  they  would  rather  stay 
with  me  now,  than  with  their  own  mother, 
wouldn't  you,  my  little  fellow?" 

And  Mrs.  Ball  tossed  little  Freddie,  John's 
oldest  baby,  up  and  down  playfully.  The  little 
fellow  looked  at  his  grandmother  and  laughed  as 
though  he  knew  what  she  said. 

"When   do   you   expect  Eose   home,   John?" 
asked  his  mother-in-law. 
20 


306  SPIRITUAL    UNCLE    AND    NIECE. 

"  She  will  be  here  Friday  night.  I  hope  she 
will  enjoy  herself.  She  said  she  should  call  on 
her  cousins  while  in  New  York." 

"  Oh  yes,  she  told  me  so  yesterday,  John." 

"Well,  I  think  I  will  now  go  to  work  and  will 
be  here  to  dinner." 

And  after  bidding  her  "  good  morning,"  John 
Delancy  went  to  his  labors  of  the  day. 

The  train  that  bore  Father  Titus  and  Rose 
Delaney  to  their  destination,  after  a  long  and 
weary  journey,  finally  reached  New  York.  A 
carriage  was  engaged  and  they  were  driven  to  the 
hotel,  where  they  were  shown  their  rooms,  which 
had  been  previously  engaged,  —  one  apartment 
leading  from  another.  Tea  was  served  in  their 
room  and  wine  ordered. 

"My  dear  Rose,  you  must  he  fatigued  after  our 
long  ride  to-day,  and  a  glass  of  wine  is  so  re 
freshing,  it  will  do  you  no  harm,  take  my  word 
for  it,"  said  Father  Titus,  persuasively. 

"  But,  Father,  I  don't  care  for  it ;  I  would 
sooner  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  replied  Rose. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  priest.  w  By  the  by, 
Rose,  I  want  to  caution  you  about  one  thing. 
While  wre  are  here  all  of  our  meals  will  be  sent  to 
this  room,  and  in  presence  of  the  waiters  and 
servants  you  must  call  me  '  Uncled  as  we  are  regis 
tered  on  the  book  in  that  way." 


A    VISIT   TO   NEW   YORK.  307 

After  tea  was  over,  Father  Titus  put  on  his 
spectacles  and  read  the  evening  paper  which  ho 
had  sent  for,  and  after  telling  Rose  that  the  inner 
room  was  hers,  and  that  she  could  retire  when 
she  liked,  he  took  out  his  breviary  and  began 
perusing  it.  Rose  retired  to  her  room,  but  she 
could  not  sleep.  Thoughts  of  home  and  her  little 
children  came  crowding  fast  upon  her  mind.  She 
knew  that  she  was  doing  wrong  in  thus  coming 
with  Father  Titus,  and  in  allowing  him  to  repre 
sent  her  as  his  niece. 

Morning  came,  and  after  breakfast  a  carriage 
was  at  the  door  for  Mrs.  Delaney  to  go  shopping. 
She  drove  to  Stewart's  on  Broadway  and  selected 
two  silk  dresses,  after  which  she  called  on  her 
cousins.  After  a  long  drive  she  arrived  home  in 
time  for  dinner,  when  again  the  wine  bottle  was 
the  first  thing  that  was  offered  her.  This  time 
she  did  not  refuse,  but  yielded  to  Father  Titus's 
urging.  And  during  her  stay  in  that  hotel  there 
was  a  continual  drinking  of  champagne  and  other 
wine  during  and  between  meals. 

O 

"  I  think  I  will  write  a  letter  to  John  this  after 
noon,"  said  Father  Titus  after  dinner. 

"Oh  yes!"  cried  Rose,  pleased  at  the  idea. 
"Tell  him  how  lonesome  I  am  away  from  him, 
and  how  I  long  to  see  him.  And  tell  him  to  be 
sure  and  meet  us  at  the  depot." 


308  SPIRITUAL    UNCLE    AND    NIECE. 

"John  is  a  good  fellow,"  said  Father  Titus. 
"  He  believes  everything  you  say  to  him.  I  don't 
wonder  at  it,  however,  for  you  have  such  an  ear 
nest  way  about  you.  Oh,  Rose  !  If  John  were 
not  in  the  way,  I  believe  I  would  sacrifice  my 
calling  and  go  with  you  to  some  other  part  of  the 
world." 

"Father  Titus,  you  must  not  talk  in  this  way. 
You  frighten  me,"  exclaimed  Rose. 

Friday  morning,  the  day  of  their  return,  at 
length  came  and  everything  was  in  readiness  to 
depart  for  home. 

John  Delaney  was  at  work  in  his  house,  having 
it  cleaned  up  and  everything  put  in  order  so  that 
Mrs.  Delaney  would  be  pleased  on  her  arrival. 
He  went  to  see  his  mother-in-law  early  that 
morning  to  tell  her  how  pleased  he  was  that  the 
long-looked-for  day  of  Rose's  return  had  arrived. 

He  found  Mrs.  Ball  sitting  in  the  rocking-chair 
playing  with  little  Freddie ;  but  when  John  en 
tered  she  put  Freddie  down. 

"Everything  seems  pleasant  this  morning,  John. 
You,  and  the  babies,  even  the  beautiful  sun  seems 
to  rejoice  in  the  return  of  Rose.  It  seems  as 
though  she  had  been  gone  a  month,"  said  the 
mother-in-law. 

"From  her  letter  I  should  judge  that  she  would 
rather  be  home,  even  though  she  is  having  such  a 
good  time,"  returned  John. 


A    VISIT    TO    NEW    YORK.  309 

"Well,  you  know  she  is  young,  John,  and  I 
hope  you  will  always  give  her  as  good  a  time  as 
you  can,  for  she  is  a  good  wife  and  has  always 
been  a  dutiful  daughter." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  Mrs.  Ball.  It  has  always 
been  my  delight  to  afford  Eose  all  the  pleasures 
in  life  I  could,  and  I  hope  I  will  always  do  so.  I 
am  going  to  meet  her  at  the  depot,  and  wrhen  she 
arrives  I  will  bring  her  into  see  you  immediately." 

And  so  saying,  John  Delaney  took  his  depart 
ure,  little  knowing  as  he  did  so  that  he  had  spoken 
to  Mrs.  Ball  for  the  last  time.  Fifteen  minutes 
later  his  "wife's  mother  wTas  dead.  John  was  sent 
for  immediately,  and  all  his  joy  was  now  turned 
to  sorrow.  Upon  arriving  at  the  house,  John 
found  Mrs.  Ball  just  where  he  had  left  her  a  few 
minutes  before,  sitting  upright  in  the  rocking- 
chair  cold  in  death. 

The  sorrow  of  John  Delaney  knew  no  bounds  ; 
for  he  loved  that  noble  woman  as  if  she  had  been 
his  own  mother. 

But  how  to  break  the  sad  tidings  to  his  wife  he 
knew  not.  He  well  knew  the  love  she  bore  for 
her  mother.  He  feared  the  sudden  news  of  her 
death  would  unnerve  Eose  and  affect  her  health 
disastrously. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  he  went  to  the 
depot  in  a  carriage  and  awaited  the  arrival  of  the 


310  SPIRITUAL    UNCLE    AND   NIECE. 

train  from  New  York.  Every  minute  seemed  to 
him  an  hour.  When  the  train  at  last  arrived,  his 
heart  was  wellnigh  bursting  \vith  grief  at  the 
thought  of  imparting  to  Rose  the  dreadful  intelli 
gence  of  her  mother's  death. 

"How  do  you  do,  John?"  said  Father  Titus  as 
he  stepped  from  the  train.  And  before  John  had 
time  to  answer,  Rose  was  beside  him  and  asking 
after  the  children,  and  a  number  of  other  ques 
tions,  none  of  which  John  heard,  as  he  was  think 
ing  about  the  best  way  to  break  the  sad  news. 

Father  Titus's  guilty  conscience  took  the  alarm. 
John's  anxious  look  frightened  him.  What  if  the 
deceived  husband  had  learned  the  truth?  He 
became  frightened. 

O 

Acting  on  this  suspicion,  he  placed  his  hand 
quickly  over  John  Delaney's  mouth,  and  pushed 
and  urged  him  toward  the  carriage. 

"  Hush,  John  !  Not  a  word  now.  Get  into  the 
hack,"  cried  Father  Titus  excitedly. 

"  I  did  not  want  to  mar  the  joyousness  of  this 
occasion,"  said  John  sorrowfully  ;  "  but  something 
has  happened  that  will  turn  it  into  gloom  and 
sadness." 

"  Oh,  John  !  What  do  you  mean  !  "  exclaimed 
Rose,  now  beginning  to  realize  that  her  husband 
had  something  terrible  to  communicate. 

"  If  you  will  promise  me  to  keep  calm,  I  will 
explain,  Rose,"  said  John. 


A    VISIT   TO   NEW    YORK.  311 

"I  promise  you,  John.  For  mercy's  sake! 
what  is  it?" 

"Well,  then,  to  be  brief  about  it,  if  you  must 
know,  Rosie,  your  mother  is  dead  !  " 

"Dead?  oh,  John!"  cried  poor  Rose,  bursting 
into  tears. 

John  tried  to  soothe  Rose.  He  helped  her  into 
the  carriage,  and  soon  they  reached  Father  Titus's 
house.  The  priest  bid  John  and  Rose  "good 
by,"  and  hoped  that  he  would  call  after  sup 
per.  The  carnage  then  sped  on  to  Mrs.  Ball's 
house,  which  being  reached  the  grief  of  Rose 
Delaney  gave  itself  vent  in  the  most  violent  man 
ner.  She  upbraided  herself  for  having  left  home 
at  all.  If  ever  there  was  a  conscience-stricken 
woman  for  her  misdeeds,  Rose  Delaney  was  the 
one  that  night. 

The  preparations  for  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Ball 
were  carried  out  in  a  manner  that  would  have 
become  a  more  wealthy  person.  Lavish  was  the 
display,  and  the  money  expended  was  nearly  all 
of  it  furnished  by  Father  Titus. 

The  good  old  lady  was  buried,  and  shortly  after 
forgotten  by  her  own  children,  but  not  by  John 
Delaney.  He  had  a  monument  erected  to  her 
memory,  and  in  Mt.  Auburn  Cemetery  she  now 
sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking ! 


CHAPTEK   XXYI. 

MINNIE'S    WANDERINGS. —ALONE    IN    A    GREAT    CITY. 

MADAME  CHASTINI'S  establishment  was  in  :i 
state  of  confusion  and  dismay.  An  hour  after 
Minnie's  departure  from  the  house,  Dr.  Forceps 
made  his  appearance,  flurried  and  angry. 

"  How  in  the  name  of  common  caution  did  you 
let  the  girl  go  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  after  the  madame 
had  related  the  facts.  "  You  Ve  spoiled  the  best 
job  we  Ve  had  for  years,  Jane  Ripley  !  " 

"  How  was  I  to  help  it  ?  "  whined  the  other.  "  I 
did  n't  dare  defy  the  woman  that  came  for  her." 

The  dentist  saw  the  force  of  this  excuse,  and 
made  no  answer. 

"Perhaps  we  can  get  hold  of  her  again,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  If  we  do ,  you  must  put  her  where  she 
can't  again  communicate  with  anybody." 

"  I  '11  answer  for  that ! "  said  the  woman,  vin 
dictively.  "  But  where  can  she  go  to  ?  You  told 
me  she  had  n't  a  friend  or  relation  in  the  city, 
except  young  Gildersleeve.  Good  gracious  !  Sup 
pose  she  has  got  an  inkling  of  who  this  Frank 
Gildersleeve  is,  and  has  gone  to  his  house  ?  " 


ALONE    IN    A    GREAT    CITY.  313 

"  Thunderation  !  "  exclaimed  Forceps,  springing 
to  bis  feet  us  if  stunned  at  the  thought.  "  That 
would  play  the  very  deuce  all  round  !  Hang  it ! 
What  if  she  was  playing  'possum  the  other  day 
when  we  thought  her  asleep  !  We  let  the  cat  out 
of  the  bag  pretty  effectually.  Could  she  have 
overheard  what  we  were  saying  ?  " 

"  What  you  were  saying,  Dick  Forceps,  please 
remember.  I  did  n't  have  no  cat  to  let  out  of  the 

bag." 

"Yes,  confound  you,  but  it  was  your  blasted 
curiosity  that  led  me  to  speak  of  it.  But  a  truce 
to  recrimination  ;  it  's  no  use  to  cry  for  spilt  milk. 
We  must  to  work.  The  girl  must  be  found  and 
brought  back,  or  you  and  I,  Mother  Kipley,  will 
have  to  leave  Boston  in  double-quick  time." 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place,  Min 
nie  Marston  was  groping  her  way  blindly  across 
the  Common.  How  she  ever  reached  that  spot, 
she  could  not  have  told.  Like  one  in  a  dream, 
she  had  left  the  Gildersleeve  mansion.  The 
crushing  nature  of  the  blow  she  had  received 
dazed  and  bewildered  her  senses.  The  faculty  of 
continuous  thought  was  no  longer  hers. 

She  tottered  along,  unconscious  of  her  surround 
ings,  seeing  no  one,  yet  moving  on  as  if  obeying 
some  impelling  instinct  that  still  survived  the 
general  prostration  of  her  intellect.  Various  were 


3!4  MINNIE'S  WANDKRINGS. 

the  comments  of  the  passers-by  on  beholding  the 
pretty  lace  and  youthful  figure  of  the  young  girl, 
reeling  and  swaying  like  one  intoxicated. 

"  \Yhat  a  shame  !  "  said  an  elegantly  dressed 
lady  to  another,  pausing  to  look  after  Minnie. 
"Poor  girl !  What  could  have  driven  her  to  such 
a  state  ? " 

"  Drunk  as  a  fiddler ! "  said  a  rakish-looking 
young  man  to  his  companion.  "  Say,  sis,"  he 
whispered,  as  Minnie  passed  by,  and  was  about  to 
add  some  ribald  jest,  when  his  better-hearted 
companion  drew  him  away. 

But  Minnie  was  deaf  to  all  these  remarks,  as 
she  was  unconscious  of  the  attention  her  strange 
conduct  attracted. 

"  Not  his  wife  !     Not  his  wife  !  " 

The  words  seemed  to  float  in  her  brain.  They 
rang  again  and  again  in  her  ears.  Her  eyes 
beheld  nothing  but  that  terrible  scene  just  passed, 
—  the  proud,  hard  mother;  the  false  and  abject 
wretch  whose  lying  words  —  Ah  !  She  could  not 
follow  out  the  thought !  Ever  and  forever  those 
words  came  back  to  her,  — 

"  Not  his  wife  !     Not  his  wife  !  " 

"  What  ails  you,  my  poor  child?"  said  a  benevo 
lent-looking  old  gentleman,  trying  to  detain  her, 
as  she  was  about  issuing  through  the  Boylston 
Street  gate  of  the  Common.  "  You  arc  suffering, 
my  dear.  Pray  let  me  assist  you." 


ALONE   IN   A   GREAT   CITY.  315 

She  stared  at  him  with  dazed  eyes,  shook  her 
head  slowly,  understanding  nothing  of  what  he 
said  or  meant,  and  passed  on. 

"  Not  his  wife  !     Not  his  wife  !  " 

On,  still  on  ;  whither  she  knew  not  and  cared 
not ;  but  growing  weaker  and  weaker  nowr  with 
every  step.  The  dusk  had  by  this  time  fallen. 
Lights  flashed  from  the  windows. 

At  last  her  fictitious  strength  entirely  deserted 
her.  She  clutched  at  the  iron  railing  before  a 
house.  For  a  moment,  it  seemed  as  if  she  were 
about  sinking  into  utter  insensibility.  But  some 
thing  rallied  her  failing  faculties.  As  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  house  before  her,  they  encountered  a 
broad  expanse  of  window,  ablaze  with  many- 
colored  lights. 

Through  the  glass  was  visible  a  long  array  of 
bottles,  tier  rising  on  tier,  an  apothecary's  shop. 
Her  eyes  wandered  from  one  object  to  another; 
now  at  the  rich  decorations,  the  black-walnut  and 
gilded  fittings,  the  marble  counters  piled  with 
elegant  trifles,  the  glistening  scales,  the  flashing 
lights  and  brilliant  rainbow  hues  ;  at  the  customers 
coming  and  going ;  the  urbane  clerks  behind  the 
counters,  as  they  deftly  put  up  little  parcels  and 
packages,  —  watching  all  with  the  idle  and  won 
dering  curiosity  of  a  child.  Gradually,  it  seemed 
as  if  some  chain  of  association  was  being  estab- 


316  MINNIE'S  WANDERINGS. 

lished  between  all  these  things  and  some  great 
want  or  desire  dimly  shadowed  forth  in  her 
mind. 

What  was  it?  She  struggled  desperately  to 
think, — to  solve  the  reason  of  this  mysterious 
feeling,  this  strange  fascination  which  held  her 
spellbound  as  it  were  to  the  spot. 

"  Not  his  wife  !  Oh,  my  God  !  He  said  I  was 
not  his  wife  !  " 

Suddenly  she  gave  a  startled  cry.  The  weight 
that  had  lain  like  an  incubus  on  her  brain  seemed 
all  at  once  to  be  dispersed.  The  complete,  the 
unspeakable  misery  of  her  situation  burst  upon 
her. 

"  Not  his  wife  !  " 

Ah  !     What  then  ?     What  then  ? 

Alas  !  for  the  poor  wretch  assailed  in  his  weak 
est  moment  by  a  terrible  temptation  !  Alas  !  for 
him,  if  he  be  so  sunk  in  despair  that  the  teachings 
of  morality,  the  higher  consolations  and  warnings 
of  religion  —  all  that  he  has  loved,  cherished, 
venerated — all  the  lessons  of  a  pure  and  virtuous 
life,  are  as  nothing  in  the  presence  of  a  great 
affliction. 

Minnie  felt  all  the  agony  and  utter  hopelessness 
of  her  fate.  Alone  in  the  great  city,  not  a  friend 
to  Avhom  she  could  confide  her  wrongs,  not  a  soul 
whom  she  could  trust,  acquainted  with  no  one  to 


ALONE    IN    A    GREAT    CITY.  317 

whom  she  would  dare  confide  her  sad  story  in  the 
hope  of  touching  a  sympathizing  heart,  —  what 
wonder  if  her  first  instinct  in  that  moment  of 
overwhelming  trouble,  was  to  seek  the  last, 
the  only  resource  that  seemed  to  offer  her  any 
escape  ? 

The  memory  of  a  favorite  book  of  her  father's 
-"The  Vicar  of  Wakefield" -- which  he  had 
placed  in  her  hands,  and  which  she  had  read  and 
re-read  with  never-ending  delight,  flashed  upon 
her  mind.  That  book  had  been  her  father's  part 
ing  gift,  his  warning  to  her  delicately  conveyed. 
She  knew  that  its  wise  lessons  —  drawn  from 
the  Book  of  books,  that  never- failing  source 
of  all  goodness  and  all  wisdom  —  had  imparted 
strength  to  her  character,  and  fortified  her  to  re 
sist  the  most  ardent  persuasions  of  the  man  she 
loved. 

But  at  this  terrible  crisis  of  her  fate  came  the 
thought  that  the  warning  had  all  been  in  vain. 
That  notwithstanding  her  own  blamelessness,  to 
the  world  she  was  no  less  an  outcast  than  if  she 
had  viciously  courted  and  wantonly  embraced  a 
deadly  sin.  That  the  finger  of  scorn  would  be 
pointed  at  her,  and  that  as  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  had 
intimated,  a  house  of  refuge  or  a  reformatory  in 
stitution  was  the  only  asylum,  save  a  house  of 
shame,  that  was  properly  open  to  her. 


318  MINNIE'S  WANDERINGS. 

Could  she  ever  look  her  father  and  her  mother 
in  the  face  again?  Would  she  have  courage  to  tell 
them  her  story?  Would  they  believe,  in  their  sim 
ple  faith,  that  such  wrongs  as  hers  were  possible 
in  a  civilized,  law-abiding  community? 

And  if  they  could  bo  brought  to  believe  it,  how 
about  her  friends  and  neighbors  in  that  distant 
New  Hampshire  village?  Could  she  endure  the 
covert  sneer,  the  sly  innuendo,  the  averted  look, 
with  which  friend  and  neighbor  would  greet  her? 
Oh,  no  !  no  !  A  thousand  times,  no  !  Better,  far 
better  death !  And  through  her  mind  at  the 
moment  floated  the  plaintive  lines  of  Olivia's 
song,  — 

"  When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly^ 

And  learns  too  late  that  men  betray^ 
What  art  can  soothe  her  melancholy, 
What  charm  can  wash  her  guilt  away? 

"  The  only  charm  her  guilt  to  cover; 

To  hide  her  shame  from  every  eye; 
To  bring  repentance  to  her  lover, 
To  wring  his  bosom  is  —  to  die!" 

The  next  moment  she  was  standing,  pale,  trem 
bling,  but  determined,  before  the  counter  of  the 
drug  store.  She  laid  a  piece  of  money  on  the 
marble, 

"  A  quarter's  worth  of  laudanum,"  she  said  to 
the  clerk. 


ALONE    IN    A    GREAT    CITY.  319 

111  vain  she  tried  to  steady  her  voice,  and  speak 
in  commonplace,  or  at  least  unfaltering,  accents. 
The  clerk  detected  her  agitation,  saw  the  strange 
glitter  of  her  eye,  and  the  drawn  and  haggard 
look  on  her  lovely  countenance. 

Slowly  he  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  sorry,  miss,"  he  said,  "but  I  cannot  sell 
laudanum,  or  any  other  deadly  drug,  to  you, 
without  a  physician's  prescription." 

The  meaning  look,  the  significant  emphasis, 
told  the  young  girl  that  her  desperate  purpose 
was  suspected.  Without  a  word,  she  turned 
away.  But  she  did  not  falter  in  that  purpose. 
Failure  in  this  one  attempt  did  not  imply  failure 
in  other  efforts.  She  would  try  another  place. 
She  would  repeat  the  words  over  and  over  again, 
until  she  could  speak  them  without  a  tremor. 
Desperation  even  sharpened  her  wits  and  taught 
her  the  necessity  of  deceit.  So  that  entering  a 
small  and  untidy  apothecary's  shop,  she  made 
known  her  wants  in  a  manner  which  this  time 
awakened  neither  suspicion  nor  scruples. 

Concealing  her  fatal  purchase,  Minnie  hastened 
once  more  along  the  darkened  streets  ;  but  now 
that  she  had  gained  the  end  for  which  she  had 
roused  her  drooping  energies,  now  that  she  felt 
her  fate  rested  in  her  own  hands,  her  strcngili 
once  more  deserted  her ;  her  tottering  limbs  re- 


320  MINNIE'S  WANDERINGS. 

fused  to  support  her.  She  felt  a  dull,  throbbing 
pain  in  her  head  ;  she  threw  out  her  arms,  clutched 
at  the  empty  air,  and,  with  a  low  moaning  cry,  fell 
insensible  upon  the  pavement ! 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

FIRST    SUSPICIONS.  —  SHADOWS    ON  THE   CURTAIN. 

"RosE,  my  dear,"  said  John  Delaney  to  his 
wife,  soon  after  her  return  from  New  York, 
"  what  ails  you  to-day  ?  Something  troubles  you, 
I  fear." 

"Oh  no,  John,"  said  Rose,  hesitatingly. 

"You  look  so  strange,  my  dear.  You  have 
something  on  your  mind,  I  know.  Come,  tell  me 
what  it  is  ;  that 's  a  dear. " 

And  John  fondly  stroked  Rose's  pretty  head. 

But  Rose  still  hesitated. 

"I  — I  don't  like  to  tell  you,  John." 

John  was  getting  interested  by  this  time. 

"Do  not  act  so,  Rosie.  Surely  you  do  not 
fear  to  confide  in  your  husband,  —  one  who  loves 
yon  so  dearly  as  I  do?" 

"Well,  John,  I  —  I  went  to  confession  to 
Father  Milton  to-day." 

"Well?" 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  go  to  confession  to 


him  again." 


21 


322  FIRST   SUSPICIONS. 

"Ah?  And  why  not?  Father  Milton  is  an 
excellent  man." 

"  He  may  be  ;  —  but  —  but  he  asked  me  such 
strange  questions." 

"Strange  questions?  Nothing,  I  hope,  that  a 
good  and  modest  woman  would  objeet  to  hear, 
Rose?" 

"Yes,  they  were.  Oh!  John,  if  I  had  been  a 
young  unmarried  girl,  I  should  have  been  really 
frightened  at  what  he  said." 

John  Delaney  rose  to  his  feet,  a  startled  look 
coming  into  his  face. 

"As  it  was,"  continued  Rose,  with  downcast 
eyes,  "  I  was  so  ashamed  that  I  was  glad  enough 
to  get  out  of  the  confessional." 

"  Rose,"  said  John  sternly,  "  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  exactly  what  Father  Milton  said  and  did." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you,  John.  After  the  usual 
questions,  he  began  to  ask  me  about  our  domestic 
affairs  ;  if  we  lived  happily  together  ;  if  you  were 
a  kind  and  tender  husband  ;  if  I  had  always  been 
faithful  to  you,  and  if  you  were  always  faithful  to 
me." 

"Go  on,  Rose,"  said  John,  as  his  wife  paused. 

"Then  —  then  —  " 

But  here  Rose  broke  down  completely.  John 
resumed  his  seat,  and  putting  his  arm  tenderly 
around  her  he  sought  to  soothe  and  calm  her  by 
endearing  words. 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  CURTAIN.        323 

"There,  there,  Rosie,  my  pet !  "  he  said,  "  pray 
be  calm.  I  do  not  blame  you,  my  dear,  because 
this  priest  shocked  your  modesty.  It  was  not 
your  fault.  The  holy  fathers  are  sometimes  rather 
plain  spoken,  to  be  sure.  But  they  never  mean 
any  harm." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  John.  A  priest  is  a 
man  after  all.  And  when  a  man  talks  to  a  woman 
as  Father  Milton  talked  to  me,  and  eyed  me,  and 
smiled  at  me,  I  begin  to  suspect  him." 

"  But  tell  me  what  he  said,"  persisted  John. 

Rose  nestled  up  closer  to  her  husband,  and  after 
much  persuasion,  whispered  the  desired  communi 
cation  in  his  ear.  As  she  concluded,  John  sprang 
up  and  began  to  pace  the  floor  with  agitated 
steps. 

"Did  he  dare  touch  you?  Did  he  dare  make 
you  any  improper  proposals?"  he  cried. 

"  No,  John.  But  his  eyes  spoke  a  language  that 
was  plain  enough." 

"If  anybody  but  you,  Rose,  had  told  me  of 
this,  I  would  not  believe  it.  I  have  been  brought 
up  at  the  altar.  Have  been  taught  to  believe  that 
our  priests  are  above  the  sinful  feelings  of  common 
mortals.  That  they  are  pure  as  the  saints.  Oh  ! 
I  cannot  believe  Father  Milton  meant  any  harm. 
He  cannot  be  such  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing! 
You  must  be  mistaken  in  your  surmises,  Rosie." 


324  FIRST   SUSPICIONS. 

"No,  I  urn  not,"  said  Rose.  "I  am  sure  that  I 
am  right.  Besides,  why  did  he  ask  such  pointed 
questions  about  my  relations  with  Father  Titus? 
If  he  had  not  intended  to  debase  my  mind,  he 
would  never  have  suggested  such  things.  You 
know  he  has  more  young  girls  at  his  confessional 
than  any  other  priest.  And  I  noticed  as  the 
prettiest  girls  came  out,  they  seemed  embarrassed 
and  their  faces  were  crimson." 

John,  much  disturbed  by  his  thoughts,  was  still 
Avalking  up  and  down  the  room.  He  was  the 
most  unsuspicious  of  men.  Kind  and  affectionate 
by  disposition,  and  never  imagining  evil  of  any 
body.  And  yet  something  in  his  wife's  words  or 
manner  awoke  an  uneasy  feeling  in  his  breast. 
He  could  not  define  it,  however.  Pie  only  knew 
that  for  the  first  time  since  their  marriage,  some 
dark  and  ominous  shadow  seemed  to  be  threaten 
ing  his  domestic  peace  and  happiness. 

His  face  colored  as  he  turned  to  Rose.  It  smote 
her  with  a  sense  of  dread  and  coming  danger,  it 
was  so  full  of  gloomy  sternness. 

"Rose,"  said  he,  ''you  make  me  suspicious  of 
these  priests.  If  one  dares  go  to  such  extremes, 
others,  too,  will  do  so.  Can  it  be  that  ministers 
of  our  holy  church  will  prostitute  their  high  call 
ing  to  such  base,  such  villanous  ends?  Your 
words  have  aroused  strange  thoughts  within  me. 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  CURTAIN.        325 

Even  Father  Titus  —  But  no  !  No  !  Ho  has  ever 
been  my  true  friend  and  yours.  No  !  I  will  not 
wrong  that  good  priest !  Though  all  others  prove 
false,  I  would  take  my  oath  that  Father  Titus  is 
as  pure  as  the  angels," 

Rose  trembled  like  an  aspen  at  this.  In  vain 
she  tried  to  control  her  agitation.  John  gave  her 
a  quick,  startled  look. 

Heaven  help  the  unsuspecting  man  when  once 
his  suspicions  are  awakened !  There  is  no  torture 
equal  to  that  he  suffers.  "Trifles  light  as  air" 
become  "confirmations  strong  as  proofs  of  Holy 
Writ."  So  was  it  with  John  Delaney  at  this 
moment.  Rose's  emotion  struck  a  pang  sharp  as 
an  adder's  tooth  to  his  heart. 

"Oh!"  he  cried  in  his  agony,  "have  I  been 
deceived?  Have  I  cherished  a  serpent  in  my 
bosom  all  these  years  ?  Have  I  been  the  dupe  of 
a  designing  priest?" 

He  beat  his  clinched  hand  against  his  brow. 

The  danger  brought  Rose  Delaney  to  her  senses. 
She  must  mask  her  feelings  and  calm  John's  sus 
picions  or  she  would  be  lost,  utterly  ruined. 

"  Oh  !  John,  my  dear  husband  !  What  are  you 
talking  about?"  she  exclaimed,  rising  and  cling 
ing  to  his  arm,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears;  for 
despite  her  artless,  childish  ways,  Rose  was  a 
consummate  actress.  "  You  do  not  mean  a  word 


326  FIRST    SUSPICIONS. 

you  say  !  How  can  you  talk  so  ?  Am  I  not  your 
dear  little  wife,  who  loves  you  better  than  any 
thing  else  in  this  world?" 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
looked  so  tearfully  up  into  his  face  that,  in  spite 
of  himself,  John  Avas  softened. 

Rose  continued,  — 

"HoAv  could  you  speak  so  of  good  Father  Titus, 
John?  Think  how  kind  lie  has  been  to  you  and 
to  me.  Think  of  the  privileges  he  gives  you. 
Think  of  the  presents  he  is  continually  giving  me, 
all  out  of  regard  for  you,  John,  dear." 

"Ah!"  said  John,  his  suspicions  again  awak 
ened  as  he  suddenly  recalled  one  or  two  things 
which  had  happened  between  the  priest  and  Hose. 
"I  saw  Father  Titus  holding  your  hand,  Rose,  the 
other  day  in  a  very  tender  manner.  I  remember, 
now,  how  closely  you  sat  together,  too.  His 
foot  touched  yours  in  a  very  loving  way  more 
than  once.  Those  glances  you  exchanged  I 
thought  were  merely  the  fond  looks  of  a  father  to 
a  daughter  !  Oh  !  heavens  and  earth  !  I  shall 
go  crazy  with  these  thoughts  !" 

"Oh  !  John,  how  can  you  !  "  cried  Rose,  whim 
pering.  "  I  declare  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
Venn-self  to  cast  such  aspersions  on  your  little  wife. 
You  know  I  have  been  always  as  true  and  faithful 
as  woman  could  be.  You  don't  deserve  to  be 
loved  as  I  have  loved  you  ! " 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  CURTAIN.        327 

And  Rose  fell  to  crying  in  downright  earnest. 

Now,  there  was  one  thing  which  the  good- 
hearted  John  Delaney  could  not  stand.  That  was 
distress  in  man  or  woman. 

Harder  still  was  it  for  him  to  see  a  woman  in 
tears.  Harder  than  all,  when  that  woman  was 
his  pretty,  childish,  dearly  beloved  wife. 

Rose  played  her  points  well. 

She  knew  John's  weakness. 

She  cried  louder  and  louder. 

It  seemed  as  if  her  heart  was  about  to  burst. 

John  looked  at  her  sheepishly.  He  wanted  to 
hug  her  to  his  heart,  to  pour  all  his  pent-up  love 
into  her  ears.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  that  he  was 
a  brute,  an  unfeeling  monster;  that  he  did  not 
mean  a  word  he  had  uttered. 

He  longed  to  do  this,  but  he  felt  too  much 
ashamed  of  himself. 

"  Boo  —  hoo  !  "  sobbed  Rose.  "  I  nev  —  never 
th  —  thought  yo  —  you  would  be  so  cm  —  cruel, 
John  Delaney  !  There  now  !  Yo  —  you  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  your  —  yourself,  so  you  had  !  " 

"Don't,  Rosie,  dear !  "  said  John,  almost  crying 
himself.  "  Don't  cry ;  please  don't.  You  make 
me  feel  bad." 

"  To  g  —  go  and  suspect  your  —  your  true  little 
wife,  and  dear  good  Father  Titus,  too!  It's 
shameful !  Oh  !  dear  !  I  wish  I  was  dead  !  " 


328  FIRST   SUSPICIONS. 

And  the  floodgates  of  Rose's  sorrowful  heart 
were  opened  afresh. 

This  was  altogether  too  much  for  soft-hearted 
John.  In  a  moment  more  he  had  rushed  to  Hose, 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  was  frantically  kissing 
away  her  swiftly  flowing  tears. 

These  tears  accomplished  more  than  volumes  of 
protestations  could  have  done.  They  completely 
washed  away  every  trace  of  John  Delaney's  sus 
picions. 

"Come,  Rose,"  said  John  that  evening,  peace 
having  been  fully  restored  between  them,  "let 
us  go  over  and  see  my  father.  He  is  very  low 
to-night.  The  doctors  say  he  may  not  live  till 
morning." 

In  a  few  moments  the  pair  were  ready  and 
sallied  out  to  go  to  the  house  of  John's  parents. 

Passing  Father  Titus's  parsonage,  they  saw  the 
priest  at  the  door,  who  pressed  them  to  come  in 
for  a  brief  call. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  children?  "  said  the 
priest. 

John  told  him. 

"  Is  your  father  then  so  very  ill  ?  "  asked  Father 
Titus.  "I  am  sorry  for  you,  John.  But  in  that 
case  I  will  not  detain  you  from  pursuing  such  a 
filial  duty." 


SHADOWS   ON   TFIE   CURTAIN.  329 

"  We  will  cull  some  other  time,"  said  John. 

"Do  so,  please,  and  bring  Rose  with  you,  too. 
Why,  you  look  tired  and  sick,  my  dear  child," 
said  Father  Titus  paternally  to  Rose,  giving  her  a 
significant  glance  which  John  did  not  see. 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  feel  well,  Father,"  said  Rose, 
faintly. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  let  your  wife  rest  here, 
John,  until  you  return,"  said  Father  Titus. 

"  Certainly,  if  she  feels  too  tired  to  go  on," 
returned  John,  looking  at  Rose's  pale  face. 

So  saying  the  husband  took  his  departure. 
Once  outside  the  door,  he  happened  to  glance  up 
at  the  lighted  windows  of  Father  Titus's  study. 

There,  sharply  outlined  upon  the  curtains,  he 
saw  a  sight  that  struck  him  like  a  death-stroke. 
The  silhouette  of  two  figures, — their  arms  inter 
twined,  their  heads  pressed  closely  together,  their 
lips  meeting ! 

With  a  groan  of  mingled  astonishment,  anguish, 
and  terror,  John  Delaney  recognized  in  those 
shadows  the  figures  of  his  wife  and  Father  Titus  ! 

Staggering  like  a  drunken  man  at  this  crushing 
disclosure,  to  save  himself  from  falling,  the  stricken 
husband  clutched  wildly  at  the  iron  railing  before 
the  house. 

How  long  he  clung  there  he  knew  not.  He  was 
as  one  paralyzed ;  every  hope,  every  feeling, 


3SO  FUIBT   SUSPICIONS. 

every  faculty  crushed  beneath  this  terrible,  this 
overwhelming  blow  !  All  thoughts  of  his  dying 
father  were  banished  from  his  mind.  In  that 
moment  of  supreme  anguish  his  mind  could  hold 
but  one  terrible  idea. 

"My    wife!    my  idolized    Rose!     Oh!     she    is 
false!  she  is  FALSE!" 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 

HOSE'S   CONFESSION.  —  A  HUSBAND'S  TERRIBLE   GRIEF! 

IT  was  late  into  the  night  when  John  Delaney 
returned  to  his  home,  — a  home,  alas  !  to  him  no 
longer ! 

Rose  met  him  at  the  door. 

Her  husband's  pale  face,  his  bloodshot  eyes, 
his  stern,  hopeless  look  awed  and  alarmed  the 
faithless  wife. 

Without  a  word  he  pushed  rudely  by  her, 
entered  the  sitting-room,  and  dropped  heavily  into 
a  chair. 

A  groan  of  bitter  agony  burst  from  his  lips. 

Hose  had  silently  followed  him. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  John?"  she  said,  as  she  crept 
close  beside  him.  "  Your  father  —  " 

"  Is  dead  !  "  said  John,  solemnly. 

"  Oh  dear  !  I  am  so  sorry,  John  !  Oh  !  why 
did  n't  I  go  with  you  !  It  is  too  bad  !  But  I  felt 
so  tired  and  sick." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  home,  Rose  ?  "  asked 
John. 


332  ROSE'S  CONFESSION. 

What  a  strange  chill  there  was  in  his  voice ! 
Rose  trembled,  a,  vague  feeling  of  fear  creeping 
upon  her. 

"  Oh !  ever  so  long,  dear  John,"  she  replied, 
looking  apprehensively  at  him.  "But  I  could  n't 
go  to  bed  until  you  came  back." 

"You  need  not  have  waited  up  for  me"  an 
swered  John,  hoarsely,  and  in  the  same  frigid 
tones.  "Father  Titus  came  home  with  you,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"Yes." 

John  Delaney  said  no  more  for  a  moment.  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  clasped  his  hands 
over  1: is  face.  His  form  was  convulsed  with  some 
strong  emotion.  No  sound,  however,  issued  from 
his  lips. 

"  Dear  John,"  said  Rose,  mistaking  his  agita 
tion,  "believe  me,  I  deeply  sympathize  with  you 
in  your  grief.  Oh  !  I  know  what  it  is  to  lose 
a  loved  parent.  I  can  never  forget  my  dear 
mother's  sudden  death." 

John  suddenly  dropped  his  hands  from  before 
his  face  and  looked  searchingly  into  her  counte 
nance. 

"  Oh ! "  he  murmured  to  himself,  "  so  fair  and 
yet  so  false  !  " 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  John?"  said 
Rose,  startled  at  his  unnatural  manner  and  harsh 
tone. 


A  HUSBAND'S  TERRIBLE  GRIEF  !  333 

Instead  of  replying,  John  arose  and  approached 
her. 

"  Come  up  stairs  with  me,  Rose,"  he  said,  going 
to  the  door.  Wonderingly  she  obeyed,  following 
him  to  the  second  story,  and  entering  with  him  the 
room  where  the  children  slept. 

"  Look  at  our  children,  Rose,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  the  babes,  a  mournful  cadence  inexpressibly 
touching  in  the  tones  of  his  voice.  "  There  they 
sleep  the  sweet  sleep  of  peace  and  innocence. 
Rose  !  Rose  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
emotion,  and  wringing  his  hands  wildly,  "can 
you  see  these  dear  little  babes,  can  you  take 
them  in  your  arms  without  reproach  to  your 
heart?  Can  you  endure  to  hear  them  lisp  the 
name  f  mother '  and  not  wish  the  very  earth  to 
open  and  hide  you?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  John ?"  faltered  the  guilty 
wife  and  mother,  pale  with  fright. 

f>  Mean  !  I  mean  that  you  are  a  false,  a  vile,  a 
perjured  woman  !"  cried  John,  excitedly. 

"Oh,  John!  You  are  suspicious  again.  I 
thought  after  what  occurred  this  morning,  that  you 
would  never  say  such  things  to  me  again.  You 
told  me  you  would  not." 

"I  was  a  fool.  I  believed  your  artful  words, 
your  cunning  acting.  Since  then  I  have  had  a 
revelation." 


334  ROSE'S  CONFESSION. 

She  cringed  away  from  him  at  these  words  as  if 
he  had  struck  her. 

"A  revelation?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,  and  a  pretty  one  to  come  to  a  husband ! 
Nay  !  do  not  try  any  of  your  blandishments  upon 
me.  It  Avould  be  useless.  My  eyes  are  opened 
at  last.  Wretched  woman,  there  is  nothing  left 
for  you  but  to  confess !  Ay !  down  on  your 
knees,  here  in  the  presence  of  these  innocent  chil 
dren,  of  your  wronged  and  outraged  husband ! 
Confess,  I  say,  how  you  have  disgraced  them,  how 
you  have  deceived  and  deluded  me!  " 

Without  a  word  the  guilty  wife  fell  upon 
her  knees  at  his  feet.  The  vague  presentiment 
she  had  felt  was  at  length  realized.  She  believed 
her  husband  did  indeed  know  the  full  extent  of 
her  crime.  For  the  first  time  the  enormity  of 
that  crime  was  presented  to  her  soul.  She  had 
dishonored  her  children  !  Terrible  thought !  The 
scales  fall  from  her  eyes.  She  too  had  been 
deluded,  deceived. 

Father  Titus's  sophistry  had  blinded  her.  Work 
ing  on  a  weak  and  frivolous  nature,  he  had  sapped 
the  foundation  of  her  virtue.  Had  taught  and 
convinced  her  by  insidious  arts  that  there  could 
be  no  sin  committed  with  a  priest  of  the  holy1 
Church  of  Rome. 

To  cover  his  crime  he  had  bound,  his  victim  by 


A  HUSBAND'S  TERRIBLE  GRIEF  !  335 

the  most  fearful  oaths  never  to  confess  her  sin 
neither  to  her  husband  nor  to  any  other  confessor 
in  the  church. 

But  nou',  removed  from  the  magnetism  of  her 
paramour's  eye,  from  the  infectious  influence  of 
his  gross  nature  and  honeyed  speech,  away  from 
the  dread  and  terrors  of  his  anathema,  the  misera 
ble  dupe  opened  her  soul  to  her  husband,  reveal 
ing  all  its  burden  of  wrong  and  guilt  and  shame. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  John  Delaney,  "  now  I  see  the 
reason  of  Father  Titus's  kindness  to  me  !  Fool 
that  I  was,  never  to  suspect !  Tell  me  how  did 
this  scoundrel  make  his  first  approaches?" 

"At  the  confessional,"  was  the  trembling 
answer.  ''He  asked  me  all  sorts  of  questions 
similar  to  those  I  told  you  Father  Milton  did." 

"  How  long  has  this  been  going  on  ?  " 

"For  two  years,"  gasped  Eose,  sobbing  aloud. 

John  made  a  movement  as  if  he  would  strike 
her,  but  restrained  himself,  murmuring,  — 

"  Xo  !  No  !  Let  me  not  forget  myself!  I  am 
to  blame,  also.  I  induced  her  to  join  the  church  ! 
Gave  her  no  peace  for  a  year.  Instilled  into  her 
mind  the  specious  dogmas  of  my  religion.  Led 
her  like  a  poor,  foolish  fly  into  the  spider's  web. 
Oh !  my  God  !  All  this  sin  and  misery  I  have 
brought  upon  myself !  Not  upon  this  poor  dupe, 
but  upon  the  arch  villain  who  has  wrecked  my 
happiness  shall  my  indignation  fall !  " 


33 G  ROSE*S   CONFESSION. 

Then  to  Rose  he  said,  — 

"  You  have  been  in  the  habit  of  going  to  the 
priest's  house  without  my  knowledge  ?  " 

"  Yes,  John,"  faltered  Rose.  "  He —  he  warned 
me  not  to  tell  you  that  I  called  upon  him  so 
frequently." 

"  Ha !  The  deep-dyed  scoundrel !  "Well,  go 
on,  tell  me  how  he  paved  the  way  to  your  destruc 
tion —  and  to  his  own  also  !  For  as  sure  as  there 
is  si  God  of  justice,  this  black-hearted  crime  shall 
be  the  utter  and  everlasting  destruction  of  Father 
Titus!" 

"He  was  always  inviting  me  to  his  house," 
Rose  replied  through  her  sobs.  "And  during  the 
early  part  of  our  acquaintance,  he  would  occasion 
ally  use  some  little  familiarities  and  drop  words 
that  would  surprise  me." 

"  What  were  those  words  ?" 

w  Oh !  sometimes  he  would  call  me  his  little 
darling.  Then  he  would  say,  *  Oh,  Rosie  !  if 
you  only  knew  how  much  I  love  you  ! '  at  the 
same  time  patting  my  cheek  or  toying  with  my 
hair." 

"The  villain!" 

"  Then,  as  if  recollecting  himself,  he  would  try 
and  turn  it  oif,  call  me  his  dear  pupil  or  his  pet 
child,  and  give  mo  presents  of  money  and  jewelry. 
I  —  I  always  told  you  of  those  presents,  John. 


A  HUSBAND'S  TERRIBLE  GRIEF  !  337 

I  never  thought  there  was  any  harm  in  it  all," 
said  Rose,  simply. 

"  I  see  !  He  laid  his  cunning  snares  until  the 
time  was  ripe  for  the  poor  fly  to  fall  into  the 
meshes.'' 

"  Oh  !  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it !  "  continued 
the  penitent  woman.  "  It  was  almost  insensibly 
that  I  at  last  yielded  to  his  unholy  wishes.  I  was 
not  myself,  John.  He  had  induced  me  to  take 
some  wine  with  him.  The  fumes  of  the  liquor 
excited  me.  No  !  no !  John,  I  was  not  in  my 
right  senses  !  I  know  I  was  not !  After  that  first 
step,  the  rest  became  easy.  I  demurred  for  a 
time  ;  but  he  made  me  believe  that  it  was  per 
fectly  right.  Assured  me  that  heaven  had  specially 
thus  provided  for  its  priests,  because  they  were 
not  permitted  to  marry.  That  I  only  obeyed  a 
divine  instinct,  and  that  my  submission  would 
contribute  to  my  happiness  here  and  to  my  glory 
hereafter  ! '' 

John  Delaney  could  hardly  contain  himself  as 
these  specious  and  sacrilegious  arguments  of  the 
priest  were  divulged.  If  Father  Titus's  evil  genius 
had  led  him  at  that  moment  to  John  Delaney's 
house,  he  would  have  rushed  most  surely  upon  his 
fate. 

"  Tell  me  no  more  !  "  cried  the  infuriated  hus 
band.  "  Oh  !  Father  in  Heaven  !  Can  it  be  pos- 


338  ROSE'S  CONFESSION. 

sible  that  any  of  Thy  consecrated  servants  are  so 
black  as  this  destroyer  of  my  happiness  and  my 
home  ?  " 

"Oh!  say  that  you  forgive  me,  John!"  cried 
Rose,  beseechingly.  "I  will  never  prove  false  to 
you  ao;aiii !  I  will  be  all  that  a  devoted  wife  can 

»*  O 

be  !  For  our  children's  sake,  dear  John,  do  not 
expose  me  !  Take  me  once  more  to  your  heart  ! 
For  oh  !  dear  John,  I  swear  that  I  have  never 
ceased  to  love  you  ! " 

"  I  will  make  no  promises,"  said  John  Delaney, 
sadly.  w  I  pledge  myself  to  nothing.  But  as  for 
Father  Titus  —  " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  turned  hur 
riedly  toward  the  door. 

"AYhere  are  you  g'oins;?     Oh!    John!  w^hat  do 

«/  o  o 

you  intend  to  do?"  shrieked  Rose,  frightened  at 
his  stern  set  look. 

But  without  another  word,  John  Delaney  seized 
his  hat  and  cane,  and  rushed  out  into  the  darkness 
of  the  night ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE     NEW      HAMPSHIRE     FARM.  —  MINNIE'S    COUNTRY 
HOME. 

THE  Connecticut  River  —  the  pride  and  glory  of 
New  England  —  affords  in  its  entire  length  one 
of  the  most  charming  and  diversified  panoramas 
of  natural  scenery  in  the  world... 

— ^—        -~~~      '*" 

Journeying  from  its  mouth  northward,  the  trav 
eller  passes  through  a  succession  of  thriving  towns 
and  villages,  highly  cultivated  farms,  rich  expanses 
of  meadow,  with  now  and  then,  on  either  side,  a 
rounded  hill  or  towering  eminence  clothed  with 
verdure  to  the  very  summit  top.  Reaching  the 
vicinity  of  its  head- waters,  the  character  of  the 
landscape  changes,  and  a  scene  of  almost  Alpine 
grandeur  and  sublimity  bursts  upon  the  view. 

It  is  a  region  of  mountains  wild  and  rugged, 
of  fearful  precipices,  beetling  crags,  overhanging 
rocks,  dashing  cascades  and  deeply  wooded  glens 
and  denies,  with  here  and  there  a  verdant  meadow 
or  smiling  plain  set  like  a  gem  amid  the  surround 
ing  desolation. 

Not  far  from  Connecticut  Lake — the  source  of 


340  THE   NEW   HAMPSHIRE   FARM. 

the  noble  river  —  and  forming  an  outlying  spur 
of  the  White  Mountains  is  the  celebrated  Dixville 
Notch. 

The  notch  is  a  singularly  wild  mountain-pass, 
with  precipitous  sides  and  fantastic  craggy  pinna 
cles,  one  of  which,  called  Table  liock,  rises  a  sheer 
height  of  eight  hundred  feet,  and  looks,  in  its  lofty 
grandeur,  like  a  sentinel  of  time,  hoary  and  grim, 
keeping  perpetual  watch  and  ward  over  the  sur 
rounding  country. 

It  was  in  this  far-away  spot  that  Minnie  Mars- 
ton  was  born.  Her  father's  house  nestled  in  one 
of  those  little  valleys  we  have  mentioned,  and 
almost  under  the  shadow  of  Table  Rock. 

Mr.  Marston  had  been  in  his  younger  days  a 
country  preacher,  but  of  late  years  ill-health  and 
growing  infirmities  had  compelled  him  to  with 
draw  from  the  regular  labors  of  a  clergyman's  life, 
and  he  now  gave  most  of  his  attention  to  cultivat 
ing  the  few  acres  which  he  called  his  form. 

Such  as  it  was,  the  farm  was  his  sole  source  of 
support;  and  in  a  region  so  unfriendly  to  the 
processes  of  agriculture  as  that  of  Northern  Xcw 
Hampshire,  it  was  no  easy  task  for  Minnie's 
father  to  make  both  ends  meet.  He  labored,  too, 
under  the  added  disadvantage  of  being  lame, 
having  injured  a  limb  by  a  fall,  and  was  compelled 
to  employ  hired  help  much  of  the  time. 


MINNIE'S  COUNTUY  HOME.  £41 

John  Marston  was  n  man  of  sterling  worth,  and 
highly  respected  by  his  friends  and  neighbors. 
His  wife  Avas  a  worthy  and  cheerful  helpmeet, 
accepting  all  the  crosses  of  their  lot  with  a  meek 
and  uncomplaining  spirit,  and  ably  seconded  her 
husband  in  his  duties  and  cares. 

It  was  a  sad  parting  which  the  aged  couple 
underwent  when  Minnie  left  them.  The  young 
girl  was  their  only  child  and  idolized  accordingly. 
She  was  ambitious  and  energetic.  The  narrow 
life  she  was  compelled  to  lead  was  too  circum 
scribed  for  her  energies.  She  burned  to  enlarge 
the  sphere  of  her  usefulness ;  to  be  doing  some 
thing  for  her  parents ;  to  lend  them  substantial 
help  in  their  daily  struggle  with  poverty. 

Like  many  a  country  girl  in  similar  circum 
stances,  Minnie  turned  a  longing  eye  toward  the 
city,  vaguely  imagining  that  in  that  region  of  cease 
less  bustle  and  tireless  industry  she  could  easily 
glide  into  some  situation  where  a  willing  mind  and 
active  hands  would  meet  with  a  stipend  sufficient 
for  her  own  wants  and  enable  her  to  contribute  to 
the  support  of  her  parents. 

This  idea  long  occupied  her  thoughts  and  formed 
the  subject  of  her  secret  hopes.  At  last  she  pre 
vailed  upon  her  father  and  mother  to  permit  her 
to  answer  an  advertisement  which  she  saw  in  a 
Boston  neAvspaper,  and  when  a  favorable  and 


342  THE    NEW    HAMPSHIRE    FARM. 

unexpected  reply  was  returned  to  her  application 
for  the  situation  advertised,  she  wrung  from  them 
a  reluctant  consent  to  her  accepting  it. 

Every  week  brought  a  letter  to  the  anxious 
father  and  mother  from  Minnie,  and  gradually 
they  became  in  a  measure  reconciled  to  the  idea 
of  her  absence.  At  length,  however,  the  tone  of 
her  letters  seemed  to  undergo  a  change.  They 
no  longer  breathed  the  same  happy  and  cheerful 
spirit  of  content.  The  anxious  mother's  heart  was 
the  first  to  take  the  alarm. 

"  Oh,  John,"  she  said  to  her  husband  one  daj\ 
"  I  fear  our  poor  girl  is  working  too  hard,  or  that 
she  has  some  source  of  care  that  she  keeps  from 
us.  I  am  almost  worried  to  death  about  her  !  " 

Her  husband  was  astonished  at  this  announce 
ment.  Minnie's  letters  had  conveyed  no  such 
sinister  impression  to  him.  But  as  each  succeed 
ing  missive  grew  more  and  more  despondent,  at 
last  John  Marston  fully  shared  his  wife's  appre 
hensions. 

But  the  letters  from  Minnie  grew  few  and  far 
between.  The  poor  mother's  face  became  thinner 
and  thinner  every  day.  The  old  father's  step 
grew  slower  and  heavier,  and  his  head  drooped, 
and  a  smile  was  rarely  seen  now  upon  his  lips. 

The  nearest  post-office  to  the  Marston  farm  wa:- 
soine  twelve  miles  distant.  Once  a  week  it  was 


MINNIE'S  COUNTRY  HOME.  343 

Mr.  Marston's  custom  to  drive  over  to  the  town 
to  £et  his  mail  nncl  do  such  trading  as  his  limited 

o  o 

means  permitted.  He  returned  one  day  from  his 
•weekly  trip,  and  his  looks  at  onee  betrayed  that 
he  had  for  the  third  time  brought  no  letter  from 
Minnie. 

"  Oh  !  John  !  What  does  it  mean?"  cried  Mrs. 
Marston,  bursting  into  tears.  "Something  has 
happened  to  Minnie !  Oh !  She  is  sick ;  she 
muni  be  sick,  or  she  would  not  neglect  to  write  ! 
Oh  !  my  child  !  my  child  !  " 

"  Don't  take  on  like  that,  mother,"  said  her 
husband,  soothingly,  although  he  felt  all  her 
apprehensions  himself.  "  She  has  neglected  to 
write  for  some  just  reason,  rest  assured.  She  will 
write  soon.  Perhaps  there  is  a  letter  on  the  Avay 
now.  I  shall  go  to  town  ajjain  the  first  thins:  in 

O  C  O 

the  morning." 

But  no  letter  awaited  John  Marston  at  the  post- 
office  the  next  day,  nor  the  next. 

"Oh!  What  shall  AVC  do?  What  shall  we 
do  ?  "  mourned  the  poor  mother.  "  This  suspense 
will  kill  me,  John!" 

"  Now  pray  be  calm,  mother,"  said  her  husband, 
himself  nearly  distracted  with  apprehensions.  "I 
have  thought  of  something  that  I  should  have 
done  before.  I  will  go  to  town  once  more  to 
morrow,  and  if  this  time  there  is  still  no  letter, 


34  i  THE    NEW    HAMPSHIRE    FAKM. 

I  will  telegraph  to  Boston  and  learn  the  cause  of 
our  girl's  strange  silence." 

rt  That  never  occurred  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Mars- 
ton.  "  Why  did  we  not  think  of  it  at  first  ?  Oh  ! 
It  does  n't  seem  as  if  I  could  wait  for  so  long  a 
time  !  But  will  you  be  likely  to  get  an  answer 
the  same  day,  John  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly.  I  shall  wait  for  it  until  it  does 
come,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  And  who  will  you  telegraph  to,  John  ?  " 

"Why,  to  Minnie's  boarding-house,  where  we 
direct  her  letters,  of  course.  Now  cheer  up, 
mother.  It  is  like  enough  that  our  dear  girl  may 
be  down  with  some  trifling  sickness,  and  hasn't 
felt  like  writing ;  or,  if  she  has  been  unable  to  go 
to  her  work  for  a  short  time,  of  course  she  would 
be  unable  to  send  the  money  to  you  as  usual,  and 
so,  for  fear  of  disappointing  you,  chose  to  wait  a 
few  days.'' 

"  Oh  f  if  I  could  only  hope  it  was  nothing 
worse  !  '  sighed  the  poor  mother. 

The  ensuing  day  Mr.  Marston,  for  the  fourth 
time  that  week,  applied  in  vain  for  the  expected 
letter  at  the  post-office.  The  next  step  was  to 
send  his  telegram  to  Minnie's  boarding-house  mis 
tress.  He  waited  for  hours  before  the  answer 
came,  and  when  he  read  it  a  groan  burst  from  his 
lips. 


MINNIE'S  COUNTRY  HOME.  345 

The  despatch  was  as  follows  :  — 

To  JOHN  MARSTON,  Esq. 

JNJ  iss  Marston  left  my  house  three  days  ago  with  a  young 
gentleman  who  has  been  waiting  on  her.  Have  heard 
nothing  from  her  since  and  don't  know  the  name  of  her 
fellow.  Perhaps  she  '11  come  back  all  right.  Can  tell  you 
nothing  further. 

SOPHIA  AVILKINS. 

"  Perhaps  she  'II  come  back  all  right!  " 

John  Marston  repeated  those  terrible  words  over 
to  himself  again  and  again  on  the  ride  homeward. 
The  very  doubt  expressed  by  them  awoke  a  dread 
ful  and  nameless  fear  in  his  breast.  How  could 
he  communicate  this  terrible  intelligence  to  his 
wife?  How  read  this  cruel  message  to  that 
anxious  mother? 

He  was  driving  at  the  moment  through  the  dark 
and  narrow  gorge  of  the  Notch.  Table  Rock  was 
before  him,  its  tall,  steep  column  looming  far  up 
into  the  sky,  and  seeming  —  as  it  ever  seems  — 
about  to  topple  over  into  the  contracted  roadway, 
and  heap  with  ruins  all  that  lay  beneath. 

A  shudder  ran  through  his  blood  as  he  gazed  up 
and  along  the  precipitous  shaft,  as  if  some  awful 
and  harrowing  memory  was  evoked  at  its  sight ;  and 
then  a  sudden  thought,  like  an  inspiration,  flashed 
upon  his  mind,  and  a  calm  and  joyous  smile, 
peaceful  and  happy  as  the  smile  on  the  face  of  a 


346        THE  NEW  HAMPSHIRE  FARM. 

child,  usurped  the  look  of  pain  and  anguish  which 
hud  furrowed  his  brow. 

It  was  with  this  look  that  he  greeted  his  wife  as 
he  entered  their  humble  home. 

"  Oh  !  You  have  got  news,  John  !  "  she  cried, 
at  the  sight  of  his  foce.  "  Good  news  at  last !  " 

He   checked  her  hopes  as  he  shook  his  head. 

"Xo,  wife,  I  have  received  only  this  telegram. 
Minnie  is  away  on  her  vacation,  but  will  probably 
return  soon,  and  then  write  us  as  usual,"  said 
John  Marston,  handing  the  despatch  to  his  wife, 
and  endeavoring  to  hide  from  her  his  forebodings. 

O  o 

Mrs.  Marston  read  the  telegram. 

"Oh,  John!"  she  cried,  sorrowfully,  "I  fear 
all  is  not  right  with  Minnie  !  I  am  afraid — " 

'"  Oh,  wife  !  "  said  John,  fervidly.  "  Let  us  hope 
and  pray  our  dear  Minnie  is  safe  and  in  good 
hands ! " 

"  But  why  did  you  deceive  me  with  that  happy 
look,  John?"  said  Mrs  Marston.  "I  thought 
surely  you  had  good  news.  How  could  you  smile 
while  our  hearts  are  still  so  anxious  for  our  dar 
ling  child?"  she  asked,  reproachfully. 

For  answer,  John  Marston  placed  his  hand 
affectionately  upon  her  arm  and  drew  her  toward 
the  window. 

The  sunset  glow  still  lingered  in  the  west,  tip 
ping  the  jagged  and  fantastic  peaks  into  which 


MINNIE'S  COUNTRY  HOME.  347 

the  lino  of  mountains  was  broken  with  glittering 
gold. 

"  See  Table  Rock,  mother  !  "  said  Mr.  Marston, 
in  a  low  voice,  pointing  toward  the  giant  pinnacle 
whose  shadow  was  projected  far  out  across  the 
valley.  "  Do  you  remember  when  we  went  there 
to  the  picnic  that  was  given  for  the  benefit  of  the 
city  strangers  who  were  here  two  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,  John,  and  Minnie  went  also." 

"  Of  course  you  recollect  it,  mother.  As  if 
either  you  or  I  could  ever  forget  that  day  !  You 
know  we  lost  sight  of  our  darling,  thinking  she 
was  with  the  rest  of  the  Sunday-school  children. 
Ah  !  I  can  recall  it  all  now  as  if  it  happened  but 
yesterday  !  Caleb  Snow  came  up  to  me  and  says 
he,  — 

:"John  Marston,  I  would  n't  let  a  child  of  mine 
take  such  a  risk  !  '  '  What  risk  ? '  I  demanded. 
*  Why,  going  up  the  Rock,'  he  replied.  '  Going 
np  the  Rock?'  I  repeated  in  my  bewilderment. 
'What  Rock?'  'Why,  Table  Rock,  to  be  sure,' 
he  answered.  '  And  who  is  so  insane  as  to  attempt 
such  a  thing?'  I  asked.  '  Why,  I've  been  telling 
you  this  five  minutes,'  said  Caleb.  c  Your  daugh 
ter  Minnie!  See!'  he  cried,  pointing  up  the 
Kock,  and  at  the  same  moment  such  a  cheer  went 
up  from  the  people  clustered  in  the  road  as  I  never 
heard  before, — 'see!  There  she  is,  at  the  very 
top!' 


34S  THE   NEW   HAMPSHIRE   FARM. 

"  I  thought  I  should  drop  to  the  earth,  mother. 
My  heart  ceased  to  beat !  Thank  God,  you  knew 
nothing  about  it  till  all  was  over !  I  looked  up 
to  the  top  of  the  dizzy  height.  Yes,  mother, 
there,  a  mere  speck  outlined  against  the  sky,  and 
waving  her  bright  red  scarf,  stood  our  Minnie  ! 
I  shut  my  eyes  in  my  terror,  and  when  I  opened 
them  again  she  was  gone.  'Great  heavens!'  I 
cried,  '  she  has  fallen  ! ' 

"But  no,  she  had  only  commenced  to  descend. 
I  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  knelt  right 
down  there  and  prayed  as  I  never  prayed  before. 
I  asked  God  in  His  mercy  to  protect  my  only  child 
in  that  perilous  descent,  worse,  more  dangerous 
a  hundred-fold  even  than  the  ascent.  I  pleaded 
and  besought  for  my  darling's  life.  I  promised, 
oh  !  I  know  not  what  I  did  not  promise  in  the  wild 
agony  of  those  few  moments,  if  my  little  girl 
would  only  be  spared  to  me.  I  saw  her  slowly 
descending,  now  in  sight,  now  lost  to  view.  I 
shut  my  eyes,  for  I  dared  not  look.  '  Ha !  she 
has  slipped  I '  I  heard  some  one  cry.  '  Xow  she  is 
on  her  feet  again  ! '  came  another  voice.  '  Bravo  ! 
Bravo ! '  shouted  the  city  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
and  clapped  their  hands  to  encourage  her,  as  they 
told  me  afterward.  Then  there  came  one  breath 
less  moment,  and  the  child  bounded  as  light  and 
free  as  an  antelope  from  the  base  of  the  rock  to 


MINNIE'S  COUNTRY  HOME.  349 

the  solid  ground.  God  had  heard  my  prayer ! 
He  had  saved  our  child  ! 

"  Ah !  I  see  her  now  as  she  looked  at  that 
moment,  —  "with  the  flush  of  health  and  excite 
ment  on  her  checks,  her  c}'es  sparkling  and 
gloaming,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  bosom  heav 
ing  !  I  caught  her  to  my  breast,  and  made  her 
promise  then  and  there  never  again  to  repeat  that 
terrible  feat.  Ah  !  How  they  cheered  her  !  How 
those  rich  city  people  gathered  round  her,  and 
petted  her,  and  called  her  a  heroine,  and  praised 
her  matchless  courage  ! 

"  Not  one  among  them  all  —  man  nor  woman  — 
dared  do  what  our  Minnie  did  !  And  it  was  done 
so  unconsciously,  they  all  said ;  not  at  all  from  a 
spirit  of  vanity  or  braggadocio.  No,  indeed. 
Her  life  had  been  spent  amona:  these  ru^ed 

A  O  OO 

mountains.  Every  cliff  and  cranny  was  familiar 
to  her  feet.  But  until  that  moment,  mother, 
neither  you  nor  I  knew  that  she  had  ever  before 
climbed  to  the  summit  of  Table  Rock." 

"  And  heaven  be  praised  that  we  learned  of  it 
in  time,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Marston.  "  We  should 
have  curbed  Minnie's  venturesome  spirit  before. 
It  was  this  same  high  courage  and  disregard  of 
danger  that  impelled  her  to  go  to  the  city.  She 
saw  how  hard  was  our  daily  stni.'^irk'.  to  get  along, 
and  like  the  noble,  self-sacrificing  girl  that  she  is, 


350  THE    NEW   HAMPSHIRE    FARM. 

she  determined  to  take  a  part  of  the  burden  on 
her  young  shoulders.  But  oh  !  my  darling !  my 
darling  !  I  fear  I  shall  never  see  you  again  !  Oh  ! 
John  !  John  !  "Why  did  we  ever  part  from  our 
poor  lamb  !  Why  did  we  ever  let  her  go  alone  to 
that  dreadful  city  ! " 

And  the  stricken  mother  burst  Into  a  paroxysm 
of  sobs  and  tears. 

"  Hush,  mother  ! "  said  the  aged  father,  solemnly. 
"It  is  sinful  to  give  way  to  such  a  tempest  of 
grief.  Listen  to  me.  It  was  from  no  idle  vanity 
that  I  have  recalled  that  trying  scene.  The 
memory  of  God's  goodness  to  us  at  that  time, 
came  like  a  benediction  to  my  soul  to-day  when  I 
too  was  ready  to  give  way  to  despondency.  Let 
us  trust  in  the  Lord.  We  have  long  since  confided 
our  darling  to  His  care.  He  who  protected  her  in 
her  hour  of  deadliest  peril,  He  who  answered 
my  prayer,  and  brought  our  little  girl  safe  and 
sound  out  of  the  very  jaws  of  death,  will  shield 
her  amidst  all  the  perils  and  temptations  which 
now  encompass  her.  In  Him  let  us  trust :  praise 
be  to  His  holy  name  !  " 

And  then  the  old  man  knelt  down  and  raised 
his  voice  in  a  fervent  petition  for  his  child. 

"And  now,  mother,"  he  said  afterwards,  "I 
cannot  suffer  any  longer  this  suspense  about 
Minnie.  I  am  resolved  to  go  in  search  of  her." 


MINIS7IE'S    COUNTRY    HOME.  351 

"  You,  John  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Marston,  in  utter 
surprise. 

"  Yes.  It  is  true  I  am  ignorant  of  the  dark  and 
crooked  ways  of  the  great  city,  but  my  purpose 
will  sustain  me.  I  will  see  Abner  Stowell  and 
get  him  to  see  after  the  farm  while  I  am  away." 

"  But  the  expense,  John?"  said  the  wife. 

"I  have  thought  of  everything,  mother.  AVe 
must  stop  at  no  sacrifice  now.  Our  child's  future 
welfare  may  depend  upon  my  exertions.  I  will 
hesitate  at  no  obstacle  that  would  prevent  what  I 
think  and  believe  is  now  my  sacred  duty  !  I  have 
already  made  arrangements  to.  mortgage  our  little 
property,  and  shall  sell  the  cow.  It  will  be  hard 
to  part  with  poor  old  Dolly,  but  we  must  crush 
all  such  feelings  and  think  and  feel  only  for  our 
Minnie." 

"  And  your  lameness,  my  poor  husband?  " 

"  Not  even  that  shall  deter  me.  My  child  calls 
to  me  for  help.  I  can  limp  many  a  mile  without 
heeding  fatigue  if  my  steps  only  at  last  may  lead 
to  her.  The  Lord  will  raise  me  up  friends,  I 
have  no  fear.  I  have  prayed  for  light  and  I 
believe  it  has  been  vouchsafed  me.  To-morrow  I 
start  on  my  search  for  our  child  !" 

"  And  I,  John,  shall  go  with  you.  I  can  never 
rest  content  here  alone,"  said  the  mother  resolutely. 

And  the  morning  light  saw  John  Marston  and 
his  wife  on  their  way  to  the  Great  City. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

DRIVEN    TO     DKSPAIR.  —  MINNIJS    TAKES     THE     FATAL 
DRAUGHT. 

JANE  RIPLEY,  otherwise  known  as  "  Madame 
Chastini,"  was  sitting  in  her  private  sitting-room, 
alone  with  her  owrn  thoughts,  and  they  were  ap 
parently  not  of  a  very  agreeable  nature. 

"I  declare,"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "the 
luck  is  runnin'  dead  against  me  and  no  mistake. 
I  Ve  had  no  end  of  troubles  this  year.  And  here 
when  I  thought  I  'd  fallen  on  to  a  good  thing,  — 
I  mean  this  Marston  gal,  —  she  ups  and  slopes. 
And  now  I  s'pose  I'll  lose  my  pay  for  all  the 
trouble  she  's  caused  me.  Then  there 's  that  Sadie 
Burns.  She 's  goin'  to  die  on  my  hands,  and 
there  '11  be  all  that  expense  for  nuthin' !  " 

But  the  door-bell  ringing  at  that  moment  cut 
short  the  woman's  cogitations.  She  sprang  up 
with  alacrity. 

"I  do  hope  it's  Forceps.  Perhaps  he  has  been 
in  luck  and  found  the  gal.  I  'd  give  fifty  dollars 
if  it  was  so." 

But  Mother  Ripley  was  mistaken.     It  was  not 


MINNIE    TAKES    THE    FATAL    DRAUGHT.         353 

Forceps,  but  Dr.  Ring,  a  physician  regularly 
employed  by  her  to  look  after  the  inmates  of  her 
establishment, 

"How  is  the  patient,  madame?  "  he  inquired  on 
entering. 

"  I  dunno,  doctor.  But  walk  right  up.  You 
know  her  room.  Excuse  me  from  accompanying 
you,  as  I  am  expecting  Dr.  Forceps  every  minute." 

The  medical  man  bowed  and  ascended  the 
stairs,  while  Mother  Ripley  returned  to  her  apart 
ment,  and  once  more  fell  into  her  previous  train 
of  reflection.  It  was  not  long  after  that  she 
heard  a  carriage  stop  before  the  house  and  then 
came  a  furious  ring  at  the  door. 

She  flew  to  open  it,  and  encountered  Dick 
Forceps.  His  face  denoted  tidings  of  some  sort, 
whether  good  or  bad  she  could  not  tell.  His 
words  soon  reassured  her. 

"  I  've  got  her  !  "  he  whispered.  "  But  she  's  in  a 
dead  faint !  It 's  all  right,  however,  I  think.  But 
come  and  lend  a  hand.  We  '11  take  her  up  to  her 
old  room.  Send  one  of  the  girls  over  for  Dr.  King." 

"  He  's  up  stairs,  now,"  said  the  woman. 

"  That 's  lucky.  But  come  along.  We  must 
get  her  in  quietly  before  she  comes  to." 

In  a  moment  more  the  insensible  form  of  Minnie 
Marston  was  lifted  out  of  the  carriage  and  con 
veyed  to  the  house. 
23 


35  I  DRIVEN  TO  DESPAIR. 

"Where  did  you  find  her,  Dick?"  asked 
Mother  Ripley,  after  they  had  placed  the  young 
girl  on  the  bed  in  the  room  she  had  before 
occupied. 

"Not  a  half  mile  from  here.  I  saw  a  woman 
fall,  and  rushed  across  the  street  to  her.  It  was 
Minnie.  There  were  only  two  or  three  persons 
round.  I  called  a  hack  and  in  no  time  had  her 
in  it." 

Dr.  Ring  at  this  moment  entered.  He  soon 
quieted  their  apprehensions  regarding  Minnie. 

"She  is  weak  and  ill,  and  I  should  judge  had 
undergone  some  powerful  mental  shock.  But 
there  's  nothing  to  be  alarmed  at.  She  will  soon 
come  round." 

He  administered  some  restoratives. 

How  long  Minnie  lay  in  her  death-like  swoon 
she  knew  not.  When  she  awoke  she  found  her 
self  in  her  old  room  and  alone.  How  did  she 
come  there,  she  wondered?  Was  it  all  a  dream? 
But  no.  Her  flight,  her  interview  with  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve  and  Frank,  her  subsequent  wander 
ings  through  the  streets, — all  came  back  to  her 
with  a  vividness  which  told  her  they  were  no  fan 
tasy. 

Suddenly  she  started  to  a  sitting  position  as  she 
heard  a  movement  in  the  adjoining  room.  Her  bed 
was  close  against  the  Avail,  and  the  partition  was  a 
thin  and  flimsy  one. 


MINNIE    TAKES    THE    FATAL    DRAUGHT.        355 

Now  there  came  a  series  of  low  groans,  which 
ended  in  a  piercing  shriek. 

Poor  Minnie's  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat,  so 
great  was  her  fright  and  terror.  Fearful  thoughts 
crowded  upon  her  brain.  All  that  she  had  suffered 
was  as  nought  to  the  images  of  horror  which  these 
sinister  sounds  pictured  to  her  imagination. 

What  was  this  house  to  which  she  had  been 
lured?  But  while  she  asked  this  question,  and 
before  she  could  pursue  the  thought  further,  she 
heard  a  low  voice  begin  to  speak  in  the  next  room. 
She  listened  with  suspended  breath  to  what  fol 
lowed. 

"Hist!"  said  the  voice.  "The  operation  is  a 
failure  !  Nothing  more  can  be  done  !  The  girl  is 
doomed  ! " 

"  What !     Won't  she  live  it  out  ?  " 

"  No.     There  's  no  hope  for  her." 

"  Er  —  what  shall  we  do  with  the  body ?  " 

"Oh!  that's  easily  seen  to,"  came  the  careless 
reply.  "I've  disposed  of  scores  of  unsuccessful 
cases,  and  never  got  caught  yet." 

"  But  supposing  you  should  this  time  ?  "  said  the 
questioning  voice  in  hoarse  tones. 

"  Pshaw  !  I  'm  in  with  the  police.  They  'd  see 
me  clear.  Never  fear.  There 's  no  danger." 

o 

Presently  Minnie  heard  a  pitiful  voice,  appar 
ently  that  of  a  young  girl,  speaking  in  faint  and 
mournful  tones,  — 


356  DRIVEN   TO   DESPAIR, 

"  Oh !  shall  I  never  recover,  shall  I  never 
recover  !  Oh  !  give  me  hope,  some  hope  of  life  !" 

"  Xo,  you  're  done  for  !  "  replied  a  brutal  voice. 
ff  So  stop  your  howling." 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  "  wailed  the  girl.  "  Must  I  die  ! 
Must  I  die  !  Oh  !  I  am  not  fit  to  die  I  Oh  !  save 
me  !  save  me  I  Father !  mother  f  shall  I  never 
sec  you  again  !  Never  have  your  soft  hands  upon 
my  brow  and  hear  3*0111*  blessing  on  3*0111*  child, 
3*011  r  lost  and  sinful  child !  Oh  !  God !  m3'  fate 
is  hard,  too  hard  for  one  of  thy  children  !"  And 
the  poor  (i;irl  groaned  aloud  in  mortal  agony. 

"Stop  ycr  noise  !  "  commanded  a  stem  woman's 
voice. 

"  Oh  \  save  me  !  save  me  !  do  not  let  me  die  !  " 
cried  the  girl  wildty.  "  Oh  !  will  nothing  soften 
your  hard  hearts !  "Will  no  pity,  no  tenderness 
steal  across  your  souls  and  plead  for  me  ?  Oh  ! 
God  !  I  cannot  —  I  cannot  die  !  Oh  !  Forgive 
my  sin  I  forgive  my  sin  !  and  let  me  live  ! " 

And  sobbing  in  the  depths  of  woe  and  despair, 
the  poor  girl  burst  into  loud  wails  of  lament. 

"Girl!  hush  \*er  noise  I"  cried  the  woman. 
'r  You  '11  disturb  the  house  with  3*our  foolish  cry- 
ing." 

"Oh  !  shall  I  die  !  must  I,  must  I  die  !  oh  will 
nothing  save  me !  Oh,  George !  why  did  3*011 
bring  me  here  !  Oh  !  you  've  killed  me  !  3-011  've 


MINNIE    TAKKS    THE    FATAL    DRAUGHT.        357 

killed  me  !  Oh  !  God  and  the  angels  bear  witness, 
you  have  killed  me  !  " 

Minutes  went  by,  terrible  minutes  to  the  mute 
and  shuddering  listener.  Then  again  she  heard 
the  man's  voice. 

"It's  all  over,"  he  said.  "Xow  how  shall  we 
dispose  of  her?" 

"  There  is  but  one  way,"  came  the  woman's 
voice,  in  surly  accents.  "You  know  your  old 
trunk  on  the  shed.  Well,  take  that,  shove  her  in 
it,  and  carry  it  to  Broadway  Bridge.  Dump  it 
over  and  it  '11  never  be  heard  of  again.  Be  sure 
yer  put  in  plenty  of  ballast,  so  it'll  sink,  mind 
you  !  " 

"  All  right,"  replied  the  man.     "  I  '11  do  it." 

And  he  went  out  of  the  room,  the  frightened 
bride  hearing  him  shut  the  door  and  tramp  up 
stairs.  She  >huddered  in  fear,  but  he  did  not  try 
her  door,  but  she  heard  his  footsteps  on  the  shed, 
and  sounds  as  if  he  were  moving  a  trunk  from  its 
place. 

By  and  by  a  noise  on  the  landing  below 
attracted  Minnie's  attention. 

She  was  impelled  to  open  her  door  and  noise 
lessly  lean  over  the  banisters.  She  heard  voices 
below. 

Mother  Ripley  and  a  gentleman  were  in  conver 
sation.  The  former  was  speaking  in  indignant 
tones. 


358  DRIVEN    TO    DESPAIR. 

"  I  declare,''  she  exclaimed,  "if  it  is  n't  a  down 
right  shame  !  There  is  n't  a  woman  in  the  busi- 

O 

ness  that  has  such  luck  as  me  !  She 's  the  sixth 
within  a  year  that 's  turned  sick  on  my  hands." 

"  It  is  hard  luck,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  Well,  doctor,  tell  me  honestly,  wThat  do  you 
think  of  Sadie's  chances  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  chances  are  that  she  will  die." 

"  Then  she  must  go  !  " 

"  Can't  she  pay  her  board  ?  " 

rf  Xo,  she  can't.  She  ain't  got  a  cent  in  the 
world.  I  'in  not  going  to  keep  her  here  for 
nothing." 

"  But  where  is  she  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  where  she  goes !  I  can't  be 
troubled  with  her." 

"  But  would  n't  it  be  a  fair  return  for  you  to 
take  care  of  her,  now  that  she  can't  take  care  of 
herself?  " 

"Stuff!  Don't  preach,  man.  I  keep  no  house 
of  the  Good  Shepherd,  nor  a  charity  hospital. 
Business  is  business.  I  've  got  my  rent  to  pay 
and  I  won't  have  any  drones  in  my  hive.  No, 
she  must  go  !  "  repeated  the  woman. 

"  Come,  now,  Mrs.  Ripley,  you  can  afford  to 
give  her  a  decent  burial,  if,  as  you  say,  she  has 
paid  you  well." 

"  You   talk   like   a  fool,  doctor.     Have  n't  I  a 


MINNIE    TAKES    THE    FATAL   DRAUGHT.        359 

license  to  pay  ?  Have  n't  I  to  keep  the  eyes  of 
the  police  closed?" 

"  T  was  not  aware  that  you  paid  a  license." 

"  Well,  I  pay  indirectly,  perhaps,  a  heavy 
license ;  more  than  you  would  imagine.  The 
police  officers  must  be  protected,  you  know. 
They  must  make  a  show  of  doing  something  now 
and  then.  And  speaking  of  the  police  officers,  I 
must  say  they  are  the  best  set  of  men  that  ever 
lived.  They  have  hearts,  they  have.  They  won't 
crowd  us,  they  won't,  if  they  are  treated  right. 
A  live-dollar  bill  goes  a  long  way.  Still,  you 
can't  give  five-dollar  bills  if  you  don't  make  'em. 
Therefore,  as  I  said  before,  this  girl  must  git  — 
as  good  as  her  has  had  to  git  before  this." 

"  She  says,  if  she  has  to  go  away  from  here,  she 
wants  to  go  to  the  City  Hospital,"  said  the  man. 

"If  she  wants  to  go  to  the  City  Hospital,  let  her 
give  me  permission  to  pawn  her  things,  and  raise 
some  money  for  her  to  pay  the  expenses." 

"  A  good  idea,"  said  the  doctor.  "  She  won't 
need  her  dresses  any  more.  She  is  too  ill  to 
give  any  directions.  You  go  and  dispose  of  her 
dresses  and  give  me  twenty-five,  and  I  will  get 
her  into  the  hospital." 

A  moment  later  Minnie  heard  the  front  door 
close,  and  then  all  was  silent. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  Minnie's 


300  DRIVEN   TO   DESPAIR. 

feelings  as  she  listened  to  the  foregoing.  She  had 
recognized  Madame  Chastini's  voice  in  one  of  the 
speakers,  and  she  fancied  the  other's  was  none 
other  than  that  of  Dr.  King. 

All  doubts  as  to  the  character  of  the  house  were 
removed.  She  was  literally  caught  in  the  toils. 
No  ray  of  hope  was  left  to  cheer  her.  The  sun 
of  her  life  had  suddenly  set  j  all,  all  was  dark 
ness  ! 

She  was  sick  unto  death.  Her  head  was  split 
ting  with  pain.  Her  thoughts  were  a  chaos. 

"Lost !  lost !  lost ! ''  she  moaned. 

"  Betrayed,  ruined,  and  brought  to  this  terrible 
house.  Who  will  ever  believe,  knowing  that  I 
have  been  the  inmate  of  such  a  place,  but  that  I 
am  as  bad  as  those  who  come  here  voluntarily  ? 
Oh !  Frank  Gildersleeve !  Heaven  will  exact  a 
terrible  vengeance  for  this  !  " 

Her  brain  was  whirling.  She  was  almost  bereft 
of  reason.  Suddenly  she  remembered  the  events 
of  the  previous  night,  —  of  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Gil 
dersleeve,  and  Frank's  denial  of  their  marriage. 
She  started  up  wildly  from  the  bed.  Desperation 
blinded  her  to  all  consequences.  Nothing  was 
present  to  her  mind  but  her  intense  misery  and 
the  desire  to  exchange  it,  even  for  the  unknown 
horrors  of  death. 

"  God  forgive  a  poor,  wronged,  and  miserable 


MINNIE    TAKES    THE    FATAL    DRAUGHT.         361 

girl !      Father  !    mother  !    forgive    your   unhappy 
da  lighter  !  " 

And  so  saying,  the  miserable  girl  placed  the 
poison  she  had  purchased  the  night  before  to  her 
lips  and  drained  it  to  the  last  drop.  Then  she 
threw  herself  back  upon  the  bed.  A  few  minutes 
later,  when  the  doctor  returned,  Minnie  Marston 
lay  writhing  in  agony,  fast  approaching  death  ! 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 

THE    STREETS   AT    NIGHT.  — A    FATHER'S    SEARCH    FOR 
HIS   LOST   LAMB. 

IT  was  a  chill  damp  night  in  October.  The 
streets  were  a  mass  of  mud  and  drizzling  ooze ; 
but  the  rain  had  ceased  falling,  and  a  faint  and 
fitful  moonlight  was  struggling  through  the  skurry- 
ing  clouds.  The  street  lamps  shot  out  a  pale 
uncertain  gleam  through  the  mist  that  sought  to 
shroud  them. 

People  were  hurrying  along  the  moist  sidewalks, 
elbowing  each  other  without  ceremony  or  apology 
in  their  anxious  haste,  perhaps  to  reach  comfort 
able  homes,  warm  firesides,  and  the  cheerful 
evening  meal  that  awaited  them  in  the  bosom  of 
their  families. 

For  most  of  that  moving  throng  the  day's  work 
was  over.  Rest  or  recreation  had  been  earned. 
But  there  was  one,  at  least,  among  them  whose 
wearied  frame  could  know  no  rest ;  whose  tireless 
labor,  beginning  with  the  rising  sun,  ended  not 
with  its  setting.  He  was  an  old  man,  whose 
whitened  hair  and  bowed  figure  had  become 


A  FATHER'S  SEARCH  FOR  HIS  LOST  LAMB.    363 

familiar  to  the  habitual  passers  on  the  leading 
thoroughfares.  His  dress  and  manner  bespoke 
his  respectability,  and  the  mute  anxious  expres 
sion  of  countenance  with  which  he  met  the  looks 
attracted  toward  him  involuntarily  awoke  the 
interest  and  sympathy  of  the  most  careless  and 
indifferent. 

There  was  something  intensely  appealing  in  the 
yearning,  wistful  look  which  his  face  habitually 
wore.  It  spoke  with  an  eloquence  more  potential 
than  the  most  persuasive  speech.  It  made  him 
a  marked  man  in  the  midst  of  a  multitude.  Per 
fect  strangers  moved  by  an  irresistible  compassion 
had  stopped  him  in  the  street  and  forced  their 
sympathy  upon  him  even  before  his  touching  story 
was  confided  to  their  ears. 

Policemen  on  their  several  beats  knew  that 
story  by  heart.  Every  day  some  one  of  them, 
now  in  one  part  of  the  city,  and  now  in  another, 
was  greeted  by  the  old  man  with  the  same  plain 
tive  inquiry,  —  always  the  same  ;  never  varying, 
neither  in  words  nor  tones  !  The  same  anxious, 
wistful,  half-hopeful  question — "Oh!  sir!  Have 
you  heard  anything  of  my  child  to-day  ?  " 

A  father  searching  for  his  daughter  in  the 
wilderness  of  a  great  city  !  His  only  child,  his 
one  ewe  lamb,  the  hope  and  prop  of  his  age  !  A 
beautiful  girl,  respected,  honored,  admired,  win- 


364  THE    STREETS    AT   NIGHT. 

iring  troops  of  friends,  whose  virtue,  truth,  filial 
love  and  duty  were  the  theme  of  all  who  knew 
her,  disappearing  from  all  human  knowledge  as 
suddenly  and  mysteriously  as  if  the  earth  had 
opened  and  ingulfed  her  !  Such  was  John  Mars- 
ton's  sad  story. 

For  three  weeks  he  had  been  seeking  his 
daughter  in  Boston.  Not  the  faintest  clew  had 
yet  rewarded  his  search.  "Oh!  sirs,  Minnie  was 
such  a  good  girl !  Can  you  help  me  to  find  her  ?  " 
was  his  constant  cry. 

Friends  were  not  wanting  to  aid  him ;  and  to 
them  he  told  his  pitiful  story.  "  Oh  !  I  could  not 
rest  until  I  got  tidings  of  my  darling  child.  I 
sent  letter  after  letter.  No  one  could  tell  me 
where  she  was.  Then  I  said,  '  I  will  go  to  Boston 
myself.  I  will  hunt  Boston  from  palace  to  hovel. 
A  father's  tireless  love  will  give  me  strength. 
God  will  raise  up  friends.  I  will  never  give  up 
seeking  for  my  poor  girl.  No,  not  if  I  drop  down 
dead  in  the  street.'" 

He  first  visited  Minnie's  late  employers ;  they 
knew  nothing  of  her  whereabouts,  but  proffered 
pecuniary  aid.  He  thanked  them  and  said,  "  My 
money  is  almost  gone.  I  parted  with  my  little 
stock  in  New  Hampshire,  sold  my  poor  old  horse, 
chief  dependence  for  my  farm  work.  Then  I  sold 
my  cow.  Poor  Dolly !  she  had  been  Minnie's 


A  FATHER'S  SEARCH  FOR  HIS  LOST  LAMB.    3G5 

pet  and  playmate.  It  grieved  me  to  the  heart  to 
part  with  her.  Her  soft  eyes  seemed  to  look 
reproachfully  at  me,  and  she  moaned  as  I  left  her 
with  her  new  owner.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
But  I  had  parted  with  her  for  Minnie's  dear  sake, 
and  for  her  sake  I  would  part  with  everything  !  " 

Minnie's  boarding  mistress  could  give  no  tidings 
of  her  fate.  Maggie  AVatson,  Minnie's  friend  and 
confidante,  had  also  disappeared,  —  whither,  no 
one  could  tell.  Every  avenue  of  hope  seemed  to 
be  shut  against  him.  Day  after  day  the  stricken 
father  presented  himself  at  the  Central  Police 
Office,  until  his  story  became  old  and  his  cry 
unheeded  ;  even  there  he  could  gain  no  intelli 
gence.  One  day  he  passed  a  house  on  Portland 
Street.  Beneath  was  a  liquor  shop  ;  above  he  saw 
several  girls  at  a  window.  At  sight  of  him  one  of 
them  drew  back  as  if  ashamed,  and  hid  her  face. 

"My  God!  My  God!  It  is-  But  no!  It 
cannot  be  my  daughter.  No,  no.  She  would  not 
hide  her  face  from  me,  —  me,  her  poor,  old,  dis 
tracted  father."  And  the  big  tears  started,  his 
breast  heaved  with  sobs,  his  gray  locks  shook  in 
the  wind. 

Passing  on,  he  witnessed  a  funeral  in  Crescent 
Place.  Entering  the  house,  he  saw  the  mourners 
passing  round  the  coffin  of  a  fair  young  girl. 
She  had  fallen  by  malpractice  ;  fallen  in  one  short 


366  rlHE    STUEETS   AT   NIGHT. 

hour.  Her  check  still  bloomed  as  the  rose.  A 
Quack  had  certified  to  another  disease ;  thus  the 
murderer  escaped,  and  the  victim  was  allowed  a 
burial.  Frail  creatures  with  painted  faces  gath 
ered  round  and  filled  the  air  with  hysteric  sobs 
and  groans.  But  short-lived  were  their  tears  and 
their  sighs. 

Ah !  What  a  sad  scene  for  John  Marston  ! 
John  Marston,  the  country  preacher  and  anxious 
father!  As  he  peered  into  the  cofiin,  he  cried, 
"  Is  it  Minnie  ?  Oh  !  Oh  !  Is  it  Minnie  ?  Thank 
God  !  Thank  God  !  It  is  not  my  daughter  !  No  ! 
No  !  Minnie  will  never,  never  be  found  in  such  a 
house  as  this  ! "  And  he  reeled  from  the  steps, 
exclaiming,  "  No  !  no  !  Thank  God  !  It  is  not 
my  Minnie  ! " 

Next  his  weary  footsteps  led  him  to  the  City 
Hospital.  Here  he  saw  girls  of  all  ages.  Some 
in  the  last  extreme  of  mortal  agony,  dying  of 
dreadful  hurts  and  malignant  diseases.  But 
Minnie  was  not  there.  One  of  these  was  a  fair 
young  woman  of  twenty,  his  daughter's  age. 
She  had  been  rescued  that  day  from  drowning ; 
taken  out  of  the  water  underneath  Broadway 
Bridge.  How  had  she  come  there  ?  AVhat  dire  ex 
tremity  had  caused  her  to  take  the  fatal  plunge  ? 
Was  it  necessity?  Was  it  hunger?  Was -it  guilt? 
Was  it  the  dread  of  coming  shame  ?  Had  she  no 


A  FATHER'S  SEARCH  FOR  HIS  LOST  LAMB.    367 

home?  No  fond  father  or  mother,  brother  or 
sister,  to  weep  and  mourn  for  her  loss  ?  Alas  ! 
Alas !  Perhaps  it  was  the  old,  old  story  of 
woman's  love  and  man's  infidelity !  Another 
instance  of 

"  One  more  unfortunate,  weary  of  breath, 
Eashly  importunate,  gone  to  her  death!  " 

The  old  man  turned  shudderingly  away.  The 
sight  of  this  poor  girl,  so  like  his  daughter, 
brought  to  his  heart  with  redoubled  force  the 
dread  and  uncertainty  which  shrouded  Minnie's 
fate. 

"My  child  !  My  child  !  "  he  cried,  in  his  agony, 
"  where,  oh  !  where  art  thou,  my  darling  child  ! " 

Day  by  day  John  Marston  treads  the  busy 
streets,  from  early  dawn  till  late  into  the  night. 
Slumber  is  almost  a  stranger  to  his  eyelids. 
Xoon  and  night,  sunshine  and  storm,  are  to  him 
as  one.  Shrinkingly  he  enters  the  dens  of  pleas 
ure  and  vice.  To  find  his  daughter  he  would 
have  invaded  the  very  citadel  of  darkness. 

At  the  North  End  he  comes  to  a  saloon  where 
a  crowd  of  young  men  arc  drinking  and  carousing 
to  the  sounds  of  laughter  and  profanity. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  says,  humbly  saluting  the 
party,  "  oh,  can  you  help  me  find  my  daughter, 
my  Minnie,  my  darling  Minnie  ?  " 


368  THE    STREETS    AT    NIGHT. 

"  Hullo  !  "  cries  a  flashily  dressed  youngster, 
turning  on  the  old  man.  "  Hi !  I  say,  old  cove, 
where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  Minnie  !  my  Minnie  !  Help  me  find 
her  ! "  implores  the  old  man. 

"  I  say,  Beeswax,  you  're  jolly  green,"  says  an 
other  of  the  party,  surveying  John  Marston  curi 
ously.  "  What  do  we  know  about  yer  daughter  ?  " 

"By  jingo,  Fred,"  exclaims  a  third,  laughing 
and  bringing  his  hand  down  heavily  on  the  shoul 
der  of  the  first  speaker.  "  I  say,  Fred,  that  gal 
I  saw  ye  with  last  night,  eh?  Here's  the  old 
man  right  arter  ye.  Own  up  now." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  roars  Fred.  "I  guess  this  old  coon 
ain't  her  father ;  not  by  a  jugful." 

"Come,  come,  boys,  let  us  not  make  fun  of  the 
old  man,"  says  the  kindlier  of  the  group.  And 
he  offers  John  Marston  some  money,  but  the  old 
man  shakes  his  head  sadly  and  declines  it  as  he 
moves  away. 

Still  intent  on  his  tireless  search,  the  old  man 
applies  at  a  West-End  haunt  of  vice,  secretly  con 
vinced  that  Minnie  would  never  voluntarily  seek 
refuge  in  such  a  resort,  yet  resolving  to  leave  no 
stone  unturned  that  might  aid  him  in  his  quest. 

"Come  in,"  yells  a  shrill  female  voice. 

And  the  old  man  steps  into  the  lower  parlor  of 
the  house.  Here  are  assembled  some  half  a  dozen 


A  FATHER'S  SEARCH  FOR  HIS  LOST  LAMB.    3f>9 

frail  young  women,  laughing  and  chatting  with  a 
couple  of  fast  men. 

"  Step  in,  boss  ;  step  right  in,"  says  a  stout,  red- 
haired  girl,  as  John  Marston.  stands  in  tho  door 
way  embarrassed.  And  running  u\)  to  him,  she 
draws  him  into  the  room. 

"  Glad  to  see  ye,"  cries  she.  "  Say,  what '11  ye 
take,  whiskey  or  gin?" 

"  Is  —  is  there  a  girl  here  named  Minnie  ?  "  asks 
the  old  man,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  says  one  of  the  girls ;  and 
the  father's  heart  leaps  with  hope  and  fear.  "Here, 
Jane,"  calling  a  servant  to  the  door.  "  Here,  tell 
Minnie  to  come  down.  Tell  her  her  fellow's 
waiting  for  her."  The  rest  of  the  company  laugh 
boisterously  at  this  flippant  remark. 

"It  cannot  —  it  cannot  be  my  Minnie,"  spys 
John  Marston  to  himself,  as  he  gazed  around  on 
the  coarse  features  and  shameless  conduct  of  the 
inmates.  "  Oh  !  my  God  !  She  —  she  cannot 
have  fallen  so  low  as  this." 

"Hullo!"  cries  a  young  woman-,  bursting  into 
the  room.  "  Who  wants  to  see  me?" 

''  This  old  gentleman,"  is  the  answer. 

'-'  Wai,  old  horse,  what  d' you  want?"  asks  the 
girl. 

"Oh,  I  —  I  was  looking  for  my  daughter,"  says 
John  Marston. 
24 


370  THE    STREETS   AT   NIGHT. 

"Wai,  ye  don't  think  I'm  your  daughter,  do 
ye?" 

"  No,"  says  John  Marston.  "  Thank  God,  you 
are  not ! " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  cries  the  girl, 
starting  angrily  toward  him. 

But  the   old  man  looks  at    her   reproachfully, 
sorrowfully   shakes    his    head,    and    turns    away 
murmuring,  as  he  gains  the  street,  — 
/    "Oh  !  Minnie  !    My  poor,  poor  Minnie  !    Better  / 
/  that  you  were  in  your  grave,  than  to  find  you  j 
Vherding  with  such  as  these  !  "  J 

Next  he  entered  the  police  court.  Looking 
anxiously  down  into  the  dock,  he  saw  a  score  of 
women,  mostly  young,  some  fair,  and  all  bearing 
the  haggard  marks  of  intemperance  and  sin. 

"Oh!  Can  my  child  be  here?"  said  the  old 
man,  plaintively,  his  eyes  wandering  from  one  to 
another.  He  heard  an  officer  say  that  two  of  the 
girls  were  from  New  Hampshire,  and  his  heart 
sank  within  him.  He  clutched  the  railing  and 
gasped,  - 

"  Point  them  out  to  me  !  Oh  !  If  either  should 
be  my  lost  child  !  " 

The  officer  indicated  the  girls  mentioned,  and 
called  them  by  name.  The  old  man  clasped  his 
trembling  hands  and  raised  them  to  heaven,  as  he 
fervently  exclaimed,  — 


A  FATHER'S  SEARCH  FOE  HIS  LOST  LAMB.   371 

"  Thank  the  Lord  !  Thank  the  Lord  !  My  child 
is  not  here  !  Oh  !  Minnie  !  Minnie  !  I  wrong 
you,  my  dear  one  !  My  Minnie  will  never  be 
found  among  such  shameless  outcasts  !  God  in 
His  mercy  will  protect  her  from  such  a  fate  ! " 

Again  the  old  man  went  on  his  weary  way, 
searching  for  his  only  child. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

JERKS    AND    SAMBO    TAKE    A    STROLL. — FROM    EVE    TO 
DAWN. 

"  GOSH  all  hemlock !  Ef  this  don't  beat  all 
nater !  It  's  worse  'n  anythin'  I  ever  heard  tell 
of !  What  do  you  say,  Sambo  ?  " 

"  Jus'  my  'pinion,  Mars'  Jerks,"  said  our  old 
friend  Sambo,  who  in  company  with  Jonathan 
AV:IS  taking  a  midnight  glance  at  Boston's  wicked 
ness.  "Ole  Mars'  dat's  dead  an'  gone  was  allcrs 
a-tellin'  Avhat  a  wicked  city  Boston  was.  Declar' 
to  gracious,  I  nebber  fought  't  was  so  berry  bad 
afore  !  " 

"Nor  I  neither,"  said  Jerks.  "Three  months 
ago  I  'd  a  scouted  the  idea.  But  I  tell  you,  I  've 
got  my  eyes  open  pretty  wide  since  I've  been 
lookin'  up  these  'ere  matters.  Jerusalem  !  What 
we  've  seen  to-night  just  takes  the  shine  off  of 
anythin'  I  Ve  seen  yet,  though  !  " 

They  had  reached  one  of  the  lowest  quarters  of 
the  city,  abounding  in  dark  lanes,  and  noisome 
alleys  ;  where  rickety  and  tumble-down  tenements 
gave  shelter  to  a  squalid  and  degraded  population, 
—  the  offscourings  of  foreign  lands. 


FROM   EVE    TO   DAWN.  373 

"  Wai,  how  human  bein's  can  live  in  such  sink 
holes  as  this  is  more  'n  I  can  understand,"  con 
tinued  Jerks.  "It's  a  disgrace  ter  the  city,  I 
swow  it  is  !  " 

"Dat's  jes  so,  Mars'  Jerks,"  said  Sambo,  with 
a  strong  expression  of  disgust.  "  Why  it 's  too 
mean  for  niggers,  let  alone  white  folks.  Keg'lar 
poor  white  trash,  dese  yer  people  must  be." 

They  were  in  the  act  of  passing  the  door  of  a, 
low  groggery  from  which  sounds  of  strife  and 
contention  were  heard.  Hardly  had  they  got  by 
when  half  a  dozen  men  struggled  out  of  the  nar 
row  portal,  and  pushing,  shouting,  and  swearing, 
poured  into  the  street,  filling  the  air  with  their 
clamor. 

Suddenly  Jerks  saw  a  knife  flash  above  the 
heads  of  the  group,  then  followed  an  ear-piercing 
shriek  and  a  dull  thud  as  one  of  the  men  fell  to 
the  pavement  !  That  awful  cry  was  the  signal 
for  men,  Avomen,  and  children  to  pour  from  the 
surrounding  buildings.  In  less  than  a  minute  the 
narrow  street  was  almost  choked  by  a  curious  and 
excited  crowd. 

"Let's  git  out  of  this  'ere.  Sambo,"  whispered 
Jerks  to  his  companion.  "Catch  hold  of  my  coat 
an'  follow  for  dear  life." 

Soon  they  were  clear  of  the  dangerous  neighbor 
hood,  and  making  a  rapid  cut  across  the  city 
came  to  the  vicinity  of  one  of  the  bridges. 


374    JERKS  AND  SAMBO  TAKE  A  STROLL. 

Here  the  streets  were  deserted.  The  dark 
gloom  of  night  was  unrelieved  by  a  single  star. 
The  air  was  chill,  blowing  fresh  across  the  river. 
Suddenly  they  heard  a  heavy  splash  in  the  water, 
then  came  a  cry  that  curdled  their  very  blood,  — 
a  woman's  shrill,  heart-rending  cry  ! 

"  By  the  jumping  Jehoshaphat !  What 's  that !  " 
exclaimed  Jerks,  darting  to  the  water's  edge,  fol 
lowed  closely  by  the  terrified  Sambo. 

The  cry  was  repeated  again  and  again,  each  time 
growing  fainter  and  fainter.  Then  came  the  sound 
of  a  vehicle  dashing  across  the  bridge,  and  ap 
proaching  the  spot  where  Jerks  and  Sambo  stood 
vainly  trying  to  pierce  the  gloom  in  the  direction 
from  whence  the  cries  had  come. 

The  vehicle  drew  up,  and  the  driver,  springing 
from  his  seat,  ran  toward  the  two. 

""Where  is  she?  Can  you  see  her?"  he  de 
manded  in  excited  tones. 

Jerks  and  Sambo  answered  in  the  negative. 

O 

"  I  was  half-way  over  the  bridge,"  said  the 
other,  "  and  saw  her  climb  on  to  the  parapet.  I 
whipped  up  my  horse,  guessing  her  intention, 
hut  she  was  overboard  before  I  could  come  up. 
Hark  !  " 

Another  cry  was  borne  to  their  ears. 

"  I  swan  !  I  can't  stand  that  no  longer  !  "  said 
Jerks.  "  There  must  be  a  boat  down  here  somers. 


FROM    EVE    TO    DAWN.  375 

By  jirniny !  I'm  bound  ter  make  an  effort  ter 
git  that  poor  critter  ter  dry  land  !  " 

The  three  men  rushed  hurriedly  along  the  shore. 

"  Here  you  are,  boys  !  "  shouted  the  stranger,  as 
once  more  that  appealing  cry  for  help  smote  their 
cars,  but  coming  now  from  a  point  quite  near  the 
shore. 

In  an  instant  Jonathan  was  at  his  side,  stripping 
off  his  coat  and  vest  as  he  ran. 

"  Whereabouts  ?  "  he  asked,  peering  along  the 
dark  water. 

"  Right  there  !  "  said  the  stranger,  pointing  to  a 
figure  dimly  shadowed  forth  on  the  surface  of  the 
river. 

Without  another  word,  Jerks  plunged  into  the 
chilly  water,  and  with  rapid  strokes  approached 
the  object.  It  was  slowly  sinking,  the  head 
already  submerged,  when  reaching  out,  he  grasped 
the  body  by  its  clinging  garments,  and  bore  it  to 
land. 

"  Dead,  poor  thing  ! "  said  the  stranger,  com 
passionately,  after  they  had  tried  every  means  to 
restore  the  body  of  the  woman  to  animation. 
""It's  no  use,  I  tell  you.  I'm  experienced  in 
these  things,  and  there  's  no  help  for  her  !  " 

"  It 's  tarnation  too  bad  ! "  exclaimed  Jerks. 
"Two  minutes  sooner,  an'  we'd  saved  the  poor 
critter." 


376    JERKS  AND  SAMBO  TAKE  A  STROLL. 

"  Perhaps  it 's  just  as  well,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  She  must  have  been  in  a  desperate  strait,  or 
she  'd  never  have  resorted  to  suicide.  But  give 
me  a  lift,  and  we'll  bear  the  body  up  the  bank 
here  to  my  wagon." 

Jerks  and  Sambo  did  as  the  other  requested. 
The  former  saw  with  some  surprise  as  they  neared 
the  vehicle  that  it  was  an  undertaker's  wagon. 

"I  had  a  late  job,"  exclaimed  the  stranger. 
"My  business  frequently  takes  me  out  at  this  time 
o'  night,  you  see.  But  jump  in,"  he  added,  as, 
after  placing  the  body  in  the  wagon,  he  mounted 
to  the  seat.  "  We  '11  have  to  take  this  over  to 
the  morgue  and  make  our  report,  seeing  there  's 
no  policeman  round.  You  will  have  a  chance  to 
dry  your  clothes  there,  besides." 

They  soon  reached  the  morgue,  situated  on 
Grove  Street,  made  their  report,  and  at  the  re 
quest  of  the  man  in  charge  agreed  to  await  the 
arrival  of  an  absent  official.  Ensconced  in  the 
keeper's  room  before  a  blazing  coal  fire,  Jonathan 
and  his  two  companions  soon  made  themselves 
comfortable.  The  body  of  the  unfortunate  sui 
cide  meanwhile  had  been  laid  on  one  of  the  slabs 
in  the  outer  room  there  to  await  identification,  or 
after  the  lapse  of  the  proper  time  to  be  buried  at 
the  city's  expense.  She  was  apparently  but  a 
girl  in  her  teens,  with  traces  of  former  beauty 
yet  lingering  on  her  wan  and  haggard  face. 


FROM    EVE    TO    DAWN.  377 

The  conversation  in  the  keeper's  room  naturally 
turned  for  a  time  upon  speculations  regarding  the 
poor  girl's  fate. 

"  You  are  an  undertaker  then  ?  "  Jerks  asked 
the  stranger  during  a  pause. 

"  That  has  been  my  business  for  ten  years  past," 
said  the  other,  who  seemed  to  be  a  .talkative  and 
good-natured  sort  of  person. 

"  Wai,  it  seems  to  me  it 's  a  pesky  tough  sort 
o'  business,"  said  Jonathan. 

"  Like  everything  else,  it 's  nothing  after  you 
get  used  to  it,"  said  the  stranger,  smilingly. 
"But  I  '11  never  forget  my  first  job,"  he  went  on. 
"  It  almost  makes  me  shudder  now  to  think  of  it." 

"  Wai,  I  should  like  ter  hear  some  of  your 
experience,"  said  Jerks,  "  ef  you  've  no  objections. 
It  would  kind  of  while  away  the  time,  you  see." 

"No  objections  in  the  world,"  said  the  other. 
"I've  thought  sometimes  that  we  undertakers 
see  a  great  deal  more  of  life,  notwithstanding  our 
occupation  has  to  do  more  with  death,  than  people 
will  generally  credit.  The  harrowing  sights  I've 
seen  in  my  ten  years'  experience,  an'  the  families 
broken  up,  and  the  suffering  and  anguish, — ay! 
and  the  crime  and  wretchedness,  too,  —  would 
fill  a  whole  volume  of  itself.  But  I  will  give  you 
a  brief  account  of  my  life  as  an  undertaker." 

And  the  stranger  proceeded  as  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTEE   XXXIII. 

THE  UNDERTAKER'S   STORY. — REV.  JOHN  MARSTON'S 
GLEAM  OF  HOPE. 

"WELL,  gentlemen,"  said  the  stranger,  "I 
became  an  undertaker  in  1870,  or  thereabouts. 
My  first  case  I  shall  never  forget,  nor  the  feelings 
I  experienced  in  laying  out  my  first  body  and  pre 
paring  it  for  burial.  It  was  that  of  a  young  girl, 
not  more  than  seventeen.  She  was  the  only  child 
of  parents  occupying  the  middle  station  of  life, 
and  they  doted  on  her.  It  was  heartrending  to 
hear  their  lamentations.  The  young  girl's  disease 
was  consumption,  and  she  made  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  corpses  I  ever  beheld.  I  declare,  gen 
tlemen,  though  I  never  saw  her  in  life,  yet  I 
could  n't  help  crying  myself  to  see  so  mucli 
beauty  and  goodness  —  for  I  knew  that  with  such 
an  angelic  face,  she  could  be  nothing  else  but 
good  —  cut  off  just  on  the  threshold  of  life.  Ah  ! 
That's  a  terrible  disease,  is  consumption,  friends, 
and  Boston  is  its  favorite  harvest-field  !  " 

"AVal,  I  suppose  like  everythin'  else,  you  get 
used  ter  seein'  such  sights  ?  "  said  Jerks. 


REV.  JOHN  MAKSTON'S  GLEAM  OF  HOPE.    379 

"Yes,  of  course,"  replied  the  undertaker. 
"  Though  it  took  me  some  time,  I  tell  you,  before 
I  could  lay  out  a  dead  body  without  feeling  sort 
of  squeamish.  My  very  next  case,  however, 
almost  sickened  me  of  the  business.  It  was  that 
of  a  woman  who  had  been  murdered,  yes,  and  by 
her  husband,  too  !  The  man  had  come  home 
drunk,  just  drunk  enough  to  be  ugly.  His  wife 
was  sick,  and  lay  on  the  bed  as  he  came  into  the 
room.  '  Git  up  out  o'  that  and  git  me  my  supper  !' 
he  growled  to  her.  The  poor  woman  tried  to 
rise,  but  sank  back  exhausted.  '  Oh,  you  won't, 
won't  you?'  said  the  ruffian,  staggering  to  the 
bed.  Then  he  seized  her  by  her  long  hair,  and  in 
spite  of  her  shrieks  and  pleadings,  dragged  her  Jto 
the  floor.  *Xow,  git  my  supper,  curse  you,  or 
it  '11  be  the  worse  for  you  ! '  he  said.  But  the  poor 
wife  had  not  strength  enough  to  rise  to  her  feet, 
and  then  the  brute,  with  a  torrent  of  oaths,  struck 
and  kicked  her,  till,  further  roused  to  frenzy  by 
her  screams,  he  caught  up  a  stick  of  wood  and 
beat  her  about  the  head  and  face.  The  neighbors 
now  rushed  in,  and  soon  the  wretch  was  in  the 
custody  of  a  policeman.  The  poor  woman  lived 
only  long  enough  to  make  her  deposition  as  to  the 
facts  I  have  related.  I  buried  her  two  days  after 
ward  at  Mount  Hope." 

"By  the  jumpin'    Jehoshaphat !  "   cried   Jerks. 


380  THE  UNDERTAKER'S  STORY. 

strongly  excited  by  this  story,  "  I  'd  jest  like  tor 
have  happened  along  about  that  time.  Ef  I 
wouldn't  have  pummelled  the  sucker  ter  a  jelly." 
"The  next  case  I  had  that  was  worthy  of  note," 
resumed  the  undertaker,  "  I  was  called  from  my 
bed  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  go  to  the  dead- 
house  at  City  Hospital  for  the  body  of  a  young 
Irishman.  I  tried  to  induce  his  relatives  to  wait 
until  morning,  but  they  were  not  to  be  put  off,  as 
they  had  made  preparations  to  '  wake '  the  body 
that  night.  Upon  arriving  at  the  morgue  we 
found  some  difficulty  in  rousing  up  the  watchman. 
Imagine  my  surprise  and  consternation  to  find 
that  the  patient  was  not  yet  dead  !  I  was  pre 
vailed  upon  by  his  folks  to  wait  until  death  took 
place.  It  was  rather  trying  to  my  nerves,  new  to 
the  business  as  I  was,  waiting  there  in  that  place, 
and  right  before  me  nine  dead  bodies  — just  think 
of  it,  nine  bodies  of  men  and  women,  murders 
and  suicides,  awaiting  identification  ! 
K  In  about  an  hour  a  truck  was  drawn  along1  the 

O 

corridor  to  the  morgue.  On  it  was  strapped  the 
body  of  the  young  man  I  was  after.  It  seemed  to 
be  a  great  relief  to  his  relatives  that  he  was  so 
accommodating  as  to  drop  off  in  time  for  the 
wake.  Shakespeare  says  that  '  there 's  nothing 
serious  in  mortality,'  and  even  our  trade,  gentle 
men,  has  its  little  humors.  I  could  n't  help 


REV.  JO! IX  M ALSTON'S  GLEAM  OF  HOPE.  381 

thinking  of  a  story  I  had  heard  somewhere  about 
King  Charles  Second's  deiith-bed.  He  was  a  long 
time  going  off.  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,' 
he  said  to  the  courtiers  around  his  couch,  '  for 
being  such  an  unreasonable  time  in  dying.'  And 
these  were  his  last  words." 

After  waiting  for  the  effects  of  this  ghastly  jest 
to  pass  away,  the  stranger  continued  :  — 

"  One  of  the  saddest  cases  I  ever  had  was  that 
of  a  mechanic  who  fell  from  the  roof  of  a  new 
house  clear  through  into  the  cellar.  He  fell  upon 
a  pile  of  bricks  and  was  terribly  mangled,  dying 
before  a  doctor  could  arrive.  I  was  sent  for  to 
take  the  body  home.  On  the  way  I  was  met  by 
his  nearly  distracted  wife,  who  was  hastening  to 
the  scene  of  the  accident.  Oh !  it  was  awful, 
awful  to  hear  her  take  on  !  We  got  her  back  to 
her  home,  but  there  a  more  heartrending  sight 
awaited  us.  The  dead  man's  five  little  children 
were  filling  the  house  with  their  sobs  and  wailing. 
They  perfectly  idolized  their  father,  and  the  sight 
of  his  cruelly  torn  and  bruised  body  set  them 
almost  frantic.  Poor  man  !  But  one  hour  before 
he  had  kissed  his  wife  and  little  ones,  and  gone 
to  his  work  happy  as  a  lark.  Ah  !  little  did  they 
dream  those  caresses  were  the  last  they  would 
ever  receive  from  him  !  " 

The  undertaker  paused,  while  there  was  scarcely 


382  THE  UNDERTAKER'S  STORY. 

a  dry  eye  among  those  who  had  listened  to  this 
affecting  tale. 

"\Val,  I  swow,"  said  Jerks,  "that  was  a  pretty 
tough  case,  tin'  no  mistake  !  Great  jimmy  !  It's 
enough  ter  make  a  fellow's  heart  bleed  jest  ter 
hear  of  it !  " 

"  Dat's  jus'  so,  Marse  Jerks,"  said  Sambo,  shak 
ing  his  woolly  head  and  winking  and  blinking  his 
eyes  from  sympathetic  feeling. 

"As  an  example  of  the  risk  we  undertakers 
sometimes  run,"  continued  the  stranger,  "I  will 
tell  you  of  an  incident  that  happened  to  me  down 
here  at  the  West  End  two  or  three  years  ago.  It 
was  not  far  from  this  very  spot.  I  received  a 
notice  one  evening  to  hasten  to  a  house  where  a 
young  man  had  died  suddenly,  as  the  proprietor 
wished  to  have  the  body  at  once  removed.  The 
character  of  the  house  I  need  not  particularize. 
Suffice  it  is  to  say,  that  it  was  of  a  kind  which  all 
great  cities  are  cursed  with.  The  city  physician 
had  been  called,  and  certified  that  the  man  died 
from  natural  or  unnatural  causes,  just  as  you 
choose  to  call  it.  At  least,  there  were  no  indica 
tions  of  foul  play.  While  attending  to  my  duties, 
a  fellow,  partly  intoxicated,  came  into  the  room, 
and  commenced  interfering  with  what  I  was  doinjr, 

o  o 7 

and  trying  to  badger  me,  commanding  me  to  let 
the  corpse  alone,  and  so  forth.  I  quickly  ordered 


REV.  JOHN  MARSTON'S  GLKAM  OF  HOPE.    383 

him  out  of  the  room,  and  at  last  was  forced  to  call 
the  proprietor  of  the  establishment.  The  latter,  a 
strong,  powerful  man,  without  a  word  of  warning, 
caught  the  fellow  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  hustled 
him  out  of  the  room,  and  before  I  knew  it  kicked 
him  headlong  down  the  stairs  !  I  had  hastened 
to  the  head  of  the  stairway,  and  was  just  in  time 
to  see  the  fellow  pick  himself  up,  and  apparently 
uninjured,  pull  something  out  of  his  pocket.  To 
my  alarm,  I  saw  it  was  a  revolver. 

f r  Drop  !  Quicker  'n  lightning  ! '  exclaimed  the 
landlord  to  me ;  and  so  electric  were  his  tones 
that  in  an  instant  I  had  thrown  myself  down  on 
the  floor  beside  him  !  Bang  !  bang  !  bang  !  went 
the  pistol,  —  three  shots  in  rapid  succession  flying 
over  our  heads,  tearing  the  ceiling  and  ripping 
through  the  woodwork  of  the  upper  stair  close  to 
our  heads.  Before  the  smoke  had  cleared  away, 
my  companion  was  flying  down  stairs,  three  steps 
at  a  leap,  and  in  less  than  no  time  my  assailant 
was  put  hor*  du  combat.  You  may  guess  that  I 
hastened  my  job  and  got  away  from  that  locality 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"  By  ginger  !  A  tolerably  narrow  escape,"  said 
Jerks.  "Wai,  all  trades  have  their  ups  and 
downs.  I  s'pose  now,  mister,  you  make  a  pretty 
good  thing  out  of  it,  takin'  it  good  an'  bad?" 

"  A    bare    living ;     scarcely    more,"    said    the 


384  THE  UNDERTAKEE'S  STORY. 

stranger.  "One  day  it's  a  pauper,  and  the  city 
foots  the  bill  at  a  stipulated  price,  and  that  a 
small  one.  Again,  and  it  may  be  some  member 
of  a  wealthy  family,  and  then  comes  a  fair  profit. 
But  there  are  a  great  many  losses.  For  instance, 
a  man  comes  to  you  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and 
wants  you  to  furnish  a  bang-up  funeral  for  his 
wife.  Of  course  nothing  but  the  very  best  will 
satisfy  him.  "Well,  in  the  course  of  a  month  or  so, 
the  undertaker  presents  his  bill,  and  is  requested 
to  '  call  again.'  And  so  it  goes  on,  — r  call  again  ! 
call  again  !  '  — and  he's  lucky  if  he  don't  have  to 
cut  down  the  bill  one  third  or  one  half  in  order 
to  g-et  anything.  We  stand  to  lose  more  than 
people  in  almost  any  other  pursuit,  from  the  very 
nature  of  the  business.  We  can't,  you  see,  demand 
payment  for  our  services  in  advance ;  there  is  a 
kind  of  a  natural  sentiment  against  such  a  thing ; 
and  so  the  undertaker,  like  the  physician,  has  to 
rely  on  the  honor  and  integrity  of  his  patrons." 

"Wai,  there's  a  good  deal  in  that  'ere,"  said 
Jonathan,  thoughtfully.  "The  idea  never  struck 
me  afore.  But  it  must  be  a  pesky  mean  sort  of  a 
critter  that  would  try  to  shirk  payin'  such  bills  as 
them  !  But  land  sakes  alive  !  You  're  jest  the 
man,  mister,  ter  give  me  some  points  about  city 
life.  Lucky  I  struck  you.  I  'm  kinder  lookin'  up 
the  seamy  side  of  Boston;  workin'  for  a  mission- 


REV.  JOHN  MAUSTON'S  GLEAM  OF  HOPE.    385 

ary,  you  see,  who  believes  in  fiiuliu'  out  what's 
the  matter  with  the  patient,  so  the  remedy  can  be 
intelligently  applied,  you  understand." 

"I  am  willing  enough  to  assist  in  such  a  work," 
said  the  stranger,  with  interest.  "  We  undertak 
ers  see  human  frailty  in  its  worst  aspects.  Much 
of  the  hidden  sins  of  city  life  come  under  our 
notice.  The  burial  returns  that  we  are  obliged  to 
make  to  the  city  registrar  puts  us  in  possession 
of  many  secrets  that  would  threaten  the  peace  of 
many  a  family,  if  made  known  to  the  world.  The 
undertaker  sees  much  that  he  is  compelled  to  pass 
over  without  comment.  It  is  not  his  business  to 
know  the  cause  of  a  death.  That  belongs  to  the 
physician.  If  no  regular  physician  is  present  on 
the  occasion  of  a  death,  then  the  city  physician 
must  make  an  examination  of  the  corpse,  in  order 
that  a  burial  permit  may  be  obtained.  Now  the 
city  physician's  opinion  as  to  the  cause  of  death 
may  be  wrong  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten.  There 
are  many  doctors  in  the  city  of  Boston  who  have 
knowingly  given  false  certificates  as  to  the  cause 
of  death.  No  doubt  they  have  reasons  for  justify- 
mg  themselves.  Frequently,  in  urgent  cases,  the 
undertaker  cannot  wait  to  summon  the  city  phy 
sician,  and  calls  in  some  doctor  Avith  whom  he  is 
'acquainted.'  By  paying  him  two  dollars,  he  will 
sign  the  required  certificate,  and  the  next  step  is 


386  THE  UNDERTAKER'S  STOHY. 

simply  to  present  it  to  the  Board  of  Health  and  get 
the  burial  permit." 

At  this  point  in  the  stranger's  narration,  the 
keeper  of  the  morgue  came  in  with  the  announce 
ment  that  the  official  whom  they  had  been  await 
ing  had  arrived,  and  they  all  adjourned  to  the 
apartment  where  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  girl 
had  been  deposited. 

Late  as  it  was,  several  people  had  already 
assembled  about  the  building,  drawn  thither  by 
the  report  that  a  dead  woman  had  been  taken  that 
night  out  of  the  river. 

The  necessary  forms  had  been  gone  through 
with,  and  Jerks  and  his  companions  were  turning 
away,  when  the  voice  of  the  keeper  was  heard  in 
expostulation  with  some  one  at  the  outer  door. 

"Ah!  that  alters  the  case,"  said  the  keeper 
presently  and  in  a  milder  tone,  to  an  old  man 
whom  he  now  admitted.  "If  you  have  lost  a 
daughter  as  you  say,  you  are,  of  course,  entitled 
to  view  the  body.  This  way,  sir,  this  way." 

The  old  man,  trembling  with  apprehension,  his 
form  bowed,  his  white  hair  streaming,  with  diffi 
culty  made  his  way  to  the  front  of  the  inclined 
.-lab  on  which  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  suicide 
lay.  He  gave  one  glance,  one  long  and  searching- 
glance,  at  the  pinched  and  wan  face  ;  then  his  coun 
tenance  brightened,  as  he  cried, — 


REV.  JOHN  MAUSTON'S  OLF.AM  OF  HOPE.   387 

"  No  !  no  !  It  is  not  my  child  !  It  is  not  my 
Minnie  !  Almighty  God  be  thanked  !  It  is  not 
my  child  !  " 

"I. swan!  Gosh  all  hemlock!  Wai,  now  if 
this  don't  beat  all  nater !  " 

These  expressions,  sounding  in  the  energy  with 
which  they  were  uttered  like  the  short,  sharp 
crack  of  so  many  pistol-shots,  proceeded  from 
Jonathan  Jerks,  who,  at  the  sight  of  the  old  man, 
had  for  a  moment  been  gazing  at  him  with  eyes 
wide-open  with  astonishment,  and  now  rushed 
upon  him  wringing  his  hand  with  these  words,  — 

"  Wai,  who  'd  'a'  thought  of  seein'  you  down  ter 
Boston,  Mr.  Marston  !  How  du  ye  du?" 

The  old  man  seemed  as  much  surprised  at  the 
meeting  as  was  Jonathan  himself. 

"What,  Jonathan!"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh!  At 
last  I  have  found  a  friend, — a  true  and  faithful 
friend  !  " 

"Wai,  I  calculate  you  have,  Mr.  Marston.  But 
Jerusalem  cricket !  What  are  you  doin'  down  in 
these  parts  an'  at  this  'ere  time  of  night?  I  swow  ! 
Ef  I  ain't  jest  flabbergasted  at  meetin'  you,  an' 
of  all  places  in  the  world,  at  the  morgue  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  old  man,  "  day  and  night  I  have 
travelled  over  this  city  on  an  almost  hopeless 
search.  I  can  know  no  rest,  no  sleep,  until  I 
have  found  my  poor  lost  girl.  I  heard  two  men 


388  THE  UNDERTAKER'S  STORY. 

talking  about  a  girl  that  had  been  found  in  the 
river  to-night.  I  followed  them  to  this  place  ; 
followed  them,  half  believing  that  it  was  my 
Minnie." 

"Minnie  !  "  exclaimed  Jerks,  in  bewilderment. 

"  Yes.  Ah  !  Look  at  that  poor  creature  !  Young 
—  scarcely  older  than  my  dearest  girl.  Perhaps 
she  was  the  loved,  the  worshipped,  only  child  ! 
Perhaps  some  fond  mother  is  waiting,  watching  for 
her  to  come  back  to  her  heart  and  home.  Per 
haps  some  other  heartbroken  father  is  searching 
vainly,  vainly,  almost  hopelessly  for  some  trace  of 
his  missing  child !  Oh !  perhaps  my  footsteps, 
beguiled,  misled  so  often,  may  yet  bring  me  to  my 
dear  one's  side,  and  find  her  —  thus  !  " 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Marston?" 
cried  Jerks,  excitedly,  grasping  the  old  man's 
arm.  "What  are  you  talkin' about?  You  don't 
mean  ter  say  that  your  darter,  little  Minnie  Mars- 
ton,  is  in  Boston,  and  lost?" 

The  old  man  slowly  bowed  his  head  in  assent, 
and  then  in  a  few  words  puts  the  astounded  Jon 
athan  in  possession  of  such  of  the  facts  regarding 
his  daughter  as  he  himself  knew. 

A II  that  had  passed  had  been  witnessed  by  the 
several  occupants  of  the  apartment,  who  gathered 
round  the  aged  father  as  he  related  with  touchino- 

O 

pathos  the  story  of  his  missing  child. 


REV.  JOHN  MARSTON'S  GLEAM  OF  HOPE.   389 

r'  Wai,  I  swow  ! "  cried  Jonathan,  as  he  con 
cluded.  "Little  Minnie  Marston,  that  I  used  ter 
trot  on  my  knee  !  The  little  gal  that  I  've  carried 
in  my  arms  time  an' time  again!  Why,  gentle- 
nien,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  listening  group, 
"she  was  jest  the  smartest,  an'  the  cutest,  an'  the 
sweetest,  an'  the  prettiest  little  witch  you  ever  saw 
in  your  life.  An'  here  she's  come  down  ter  Boston 
jest  ter  help  her  old  father  an'  mother,  and  some 
cantankerous  scoundrel  has  —  " 

But  Jonathan,  carried  away  by  his  feelings  to  a 
conclusion  that  each  of  his  hearers  perhaps  had 
similar!}'  arrived  at,  stopped  short  as  he  perceived 
the  effect  his  words  were  having  on  the  old  man. 
For  John  Marston's  face  had  grown  ashy  pale, 
and  he  raised  his  quivering  hand  in  mute  appeal, 
as  if  in  deprecation  of  the  terrible  thought  Jerks's 
words  suggested. 

"There!  There!  Cheer  up,  Mr.  Marston," 
said  the  latter,  supporting  the  almost  sinking 
form  of  the  stricken  father.  rf  You  are  among 
friends  here.  I  was  wrong  —  I  know  it,  feel  it ! 
Minnie  Marston  isn't  the  girl  to  be  misled  by  any 
man.  Cheer  up,  I  say  !  I  '11  help  you  ter  find 
your  darter.  There  ain't  a  man  here  but  will 
help  you.  I  can  read  it  in  their  faces,  — every 
man  of  'em  !  " 

The   undertaker   here   beckoned    to   Jonathan, 


390  THE  UNDERTAKER'S  STORY. 

and  drew  him  aside.  The  former  had  listened 
with  the  keenest  interest  to  John  Marston's  nar 
rative,  and  now  and  then  ho  seemed  upon  the 
point  of  interrupting  him,  but  forbore  to  do  so. 
Now  he  whispered  a  few  words  into  Jonathan's 
ear. 

"Jerusalem!  You  don't  say  so!"  exclaimed 
Jerks,  in  unbounded  astonishment.  "When  did 
it  happen  and  where  ?  " 

"  This  morning,  and  at  a  house  at  the  South 
End." 

"  Jewhittaker !  And  she  is  doin'  well,  you 
say?" 

"  I  was  assured  so  by  the  physician.  He  was 
called  in  time  to  apply  proper  remedies,  and 
thinks  his  patient  in  a  fair  way  to  recover  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  inspector  uttered  an  excla 
mation.  He  had  been  examining  the  corpse  of  the 
drowned  woman.  In  a  pocket-book  found  in  her 
dress  he  had  discovered  a  note.  This  he  passed 
to  the  undertaker,  requesting  him  to  read  it  aloud. 
The  note  ran  thus  :  — 

DEAR  MOTHEK!  I  am  cruelly  wronged.  Before 
this  reaches  you,  I  shall  be  no  more.  "When  I  saw 
Minnie  Marston's  agony  after  taking  poison  at  Madame 
Chastini's,  I  resolved  on  an  easier  death.  Farewell! 
The  dark  waters  cover  me. 

MAGGIE  WATSON. 


REV.  JOHN  KABSTON'S  GLEAM  OF  HOPE.    391 

w  Oh  God  !  That  is  Minnie  !  my  dear  Minnie  ! 
Oh  heavens  !  Is  she  poisoned?  Tell  me  !  Pray 
tell  me  where  is  Chustini's  house?"  said  John 
Marston,  his  gray  locks  shaking,  his  head  bowing, 
and  his  bosom  heaving  with  convulsions.  And 
the  crowd  pressed  nearer  to  him,  and  wept  in  sym 
pathy  with  his  agony. 


CHAPTER   XXXIY. 

FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  HIS  MOTHER.  —  SENT  TO  THE 
ASYLUM. 


Frank  Gildersleeve  left  Minnie  that 
night,  he  hud  fully  intended  to  return.  His  pur 
pose  perhaps  was  to  abandon  her  eventually,  but 
not  at  that  time. 

Forceps's  plans  were  not  yet  ripe.  At  the  proper 
time  he  would  counsel  Frank  how  to  act.  The 
young  man  was  a  passive  tool  in  the  dentist's 
hands.  Frank  was  weak  and  vacillating  by  nature, 
the  creature  and  slave  of  his  passions.  And  now 
what  little  will  he  possessed  was  weakened  by 
indulgence  in  strong  drink.  Every  faculty,  as 
well  as  his  bodily  powers,  was  poisoned  by  his 
rapid  course  of  dissipation. 

Therefore,  when  he  left  Madame  Chastini's 
house,  he  had  gone  to  a  fashionable  saloon  to 
obtain  drink.  He  .left  the  place  intoxicated,  and 
wandered  aimlessly  around  the  town  until  a  police 
man  accosted  him. 

"  Who  are  you  ,  my  buck  ?  "  said  the  officer, 
seeing  by  his  dress  that  Frank  belonged  to  respec- 


SENT   TO   THE   ASYLUM.  393 

table  society.  "  Come,  give  us  your  name,  and 
where  you  live,  or  else  I  shall  have  to  take  you 
to  the  station-house."  This  somewhat  sobered 
the  young  man.  He  whispered  the  number  of  his 
mother's  house,  forgetting  all  about  Minnie. 

'  Take  me  home  (hie),  Mr.  Policeman,"  he 
stuttered,  "and  here's  a  fiver  (hie)  for  you." 

The  officer,  nothing  loath,  accepted  the  bribe, 
and  assisted  the  young  man  to  his  residence  on 
Beacon  Hill. 

That  evening,  as  we  have  seen,  Mrs.  Gilder- 
sleeve  was  entertaining  a  select  party  of  friends  at 
dinner.  Her  mortification  cannot  be  described  as 
her  son  staggered  into  the  room  and  muttered 
over  some  maudlin  nonsense,  to  the  dismay  of  the 
guests. 

Sambo,  however,  was  luckily  at  hand,  and  at  a 
glance  from  his  mistress,  led  the  inebriate  to  his 
chamber. 

It  was  the  next  day  that  Minnie  Marston, 
escaping  from  the  abortionist's  house,  found  her 
way,  as  already  related,  to  the  residence  of  the 
Gildersleeves. 

Whatever  lurking  doubts  Mrs.  Gildersleeve 
may  have  had  as  to  Frank's  denial  of  Minnie's 
story,  the  proud  woman  of  the  world  determined 
never  to  let  them  be  uttered  by  her  lips.  She 
seemed  to  be  standing  on  the  crumbling  verge  of 


391:        FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  HIS  MOTHKR. 

an  abyss.  Her  pride  of  wealth  and  name  and 
station  all  took  the  alarm.  Frank  Gildersleeve, 
her  only  son  though  he  was,  had  disgraced  her 
too  deeply  already  for  forgiveness,  and  if  this  last 
scandal  should  come  out,  she  could  no  longer  hold 
her  head  up  as  the  queen  and  leader  of  fashion. 
Something  must  be  done,  and  at  once. 

For  this  unnatural  mother  to  resolve  was  to  act. 
Two  physicians  were  summoned  to  the  Beacon 
Hill  mansion. 

Dr.  Lancet  adjusted  his  gold  eye-glasses  and 
gazed  upon  Frank  with  an  air  of  meek  benevolence. 

Dr.  Scalpel  told  him  to  put  out  his  tongue. 

"I'll  see  you  hanged  first!"  roared  Frank, 
irritated  at  the  searching  scrutiny  of  the  physi 
cians. 

Dr.  Scalpel  took  a  pinch  of  snnff  from  a  jew 
elled  snuif-box,  and  with  a  meaning  glance  at  his 
colleague,  said,  — 

"  Poor  young  man  !  Inclined  to  be  violent,  I 
see  !  " 

Dr.  Lancet  nodded  assentingly. 

"  Violent !  "  exclaimed  Frank,  looking  suspi 
ciously  at  the  two  doctors.  "  What  do  }TOU  mean? 
What  are  you  here  for?  I  am  not  sick  enough  to 
require  the  attendance  of  two  physicians,  am  I?" 
And  the  bewildered  youth  raised  himself  up  in 
his  couch,  but  sank  back  from  weakness. 


SENT    TO    THE    ASYLUM  395 

"There,  there!  Do  not  distress  yourself,  my 
dear  young  friend,"  said  Scalpel,  soothingly. 
"You  are  only  weak  and  debilitated,  that  is  all." 

"I  know  what  ails  me  as  well  as  you  do," 
answered  Frank,  peevishly.  "  I  'm  burning  up 
with  fever  —  scorching  inwardly.  Brandy  has 
done  it.  I  drank  to  cool  one  fire  —  the  fire  of 
remorse  and  shame  —  and  only  kindled  another, 
delirium  tremens.  Xow  if  you  can  cure  that,  why 
don't  you  go  ahead,  instead  of  standing  there  like 
a  pair  of  grinning  effigies  ?  " 

Scalpel  and  Lancet  exchanged  commiserating 
glances.  This  served  but  to  increase  the  young 
man's  irritation.  Excitement  and  rage  lent  him  a 
fictitious  strength.  He  sprang  up,  his  eyes  glar 
ing,  his  pale  cheek  growing  hot  and  red,  his  fist 
doubled  and  arm  extended  at  the  disciples  of 
Galen. 

"Very  bad —  very  bad  !  "  said  Scalpel,  audibly, 
and  shaking  his  head. 

f  Bad  !  "  yelled  Frank,  his  eyes  almost  starting 
from  their  sockets  with  rage,  while  he  shudder- 
ingly  felt  the  insidious  warnings  creeping  through 
his  frame  of  that  fell  disease  which  his  headlong 
indulgence  in  strong  drink  had  engendered.  "  Very 
bad,  you  say?  Ha!  Ha!  What  do  you  mean? 
AYhat  do  you  mean  by  that?  Speak?  AVhy  do 
you  nod  and  wink  so  mysteriously  at  each  other? 


396        FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  ins  MOTHER. 

Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  cool,  calculating 
way,  as  though  you  had  me  mentally  under  the 
dissecting-knife  !  Away  !  Away  !  Leave  me,  I 
tell  you  !  Your  Arery  looks  stir  up  all  the  bad 
blood  in  me  !  Leave  me,  or  by  Heaven  I  shall  do 
you  mischief! " 

And  the  excited  and  no  longer  responsible 
young  man  suddenly  clutched  a  pitcher  from  the 
table  at  the  head  of  the  bed  and  made  as  if  to 
hurl  it  at  them. 

The  two  doctors  fled  precipitately  to  the  door ; 
then  as  Frank,  exhausted  by  his  passion,  sank 
back  once  more,  Scalpel  said,  — 

"  What  a  pity  !  What  a  pity  !  I  fear  we  can  do 
nothing  for  him,  Brother  Lancet." 

"  Xothing,  but  to  recommend  a  straitwaist- 
coat,"  said  Lancet,  gruffly ;  and  the  two  worthies 
departed  to  seek  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  who  was 
awaiting  the  result  of  their  examination  in  an 
adjoining  room. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  what  is  your  verdict?  "  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve  inquired,  in  a  cold,  unmoved  tone, 
as  they  entered. 

"  I  regret  to  say,  madam,"  said  Scalpel,  with 
an  appropriate  sigh,  "that  we  can  offer  you  no 
hope.  Your  son  is  no  longer  a  responsible  being. 
There  is  but  one  course,  I  fear,  to  be  taken  with 
him.  The  interests  of  society  in  general,  and  of 


SENT  TO   THE   ASYLUM.  #!»7 

your  family  in  particular,  as  well  as  regard  for  the 
poor  young  gentleman  himself,  require  that  he  be 
placed  under  some  proper  and  suitable  restraint.'' 

"Very  well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  inflexible 
woman,  "  I  leave  the  matter  entirely  in  your 
hands.  You  will  please  make  out  the  necessary 
papers  that  you  spoke  about,  while  I  will  go  and 
see  my  son.  There  arc  pens  and  paper  at  your 
service." 

"Ahem!  my  dear  madam,"  said  Scalpel,  de 
taining  her,  "I.  would  recommend  you  to  be 
careful;  tie  young  gentleman  is  in  an  extremely 
violent  state,  I  am  pained  to  say." 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  lip  curled  scornfully. 

"I  think  he  will  show  no  violence  toward  me," 
she  said,  haughtily.  "  Remember,  gentlemen,  I 
am  his  mother  !  " 

And  so  saying  she  swept  out  of  the  room. 

A  favorite  domestic,  who  had  been  in  the  family 
for  years,  had  been  assigned  to  act  as  Frank's 
nurse  from  the  commencement  of  his  recent 
illness.  She  was  a  good-hearted,  matronly 
woman.  Frank  had  always  been  attached  to 
her,  and  with  good  reason.  Mrs.  Dawkins,  for 
years  had  filled  the  place  of  a  mother  to  him. 
She  had  nursed  him,  had  shared  his  childish  joys 
and  soothed  his  boyish  troubles.  Mrs.  Gilder- 
sleeve,  devoted  to  society  and  the  demands  Avhich 


398        FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  ms  MOTHER. 

fashionable  life  constantly  made  upon  her  time, 
was  content  to  leave  her  children  to  the  care  of 
this  trusty  servant.  Thus  in  course  of  time  there 
grew  between  Mrs.  Dawkins  and  the  neglected 
boy  a  strong  bond  of  love  and  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  on  entering  her  son's  cham 
ber,  found  that  Mrs.  Dawkins  had  resumed  her 
place  at  Frank's  bedside.  The  nurse  was  speak 
ing  some  soothing  words  in  an  undertone,  while 
the  young  man  lay  back  upon  his  couch,  his 
hands  clasped  over  his  eyes,  which  were  bedewed 
with  tears.  His  frame  was  likewise  agitated  by 
convulsive  sobs. 

But  these  manifestations  seemed  entirely  lost  on 
the  cold,  worldly  woman  who  now  approached  the 
bedside  of  her  suffering  son.  No  Roman  mother 
could  have  displayed  less  emotion  when  sending 
her  only  child  to  battle,  than  did  this  American 
mother  at  sight  of  her  boy's  anguish.  Was  it 
indifference,  or  was  it  the  result  of  that  worldly, 
heartless  training  which  teaches  the  suppression 
of  all  natural  feeling  and  emotion,  which  stig 
matizes  as  low  and  vulgar  the  indulgence  of  the 
purest  and  holiest  and  tenderest  impulses  of  the 
human  heart? 

"You  may  retire  until  I  call  you,  Mrs.  Daw- 
kins,"'  said  the  lady  to  the  nurse.  "I  wish  to 
have  some  conversation  with  my  son." 


SENT    TO    THE    ASYLUM.  390 

The  nurse  rose  to  obey,  but  Frank  with  sudden 
energy  caught  her  by  the  arm,  while  he  cried 
imploringly,  — 

"  Do  not  leave  mo,  nurse.  I  am  not  fit  to  pass 
through  another  such  scene  as  I  have  just  under 
gone.  Pray  stay  with  me,  for  I  know  I  shall 
become  agitated,  and  perhaps  say  harsh  and  bitter 
things,  if  left  alone  with  my  mother." 

But  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  gave  the  nurse  a  look 
which  the  latter  dared  not  disobey,  and  in  spite  of 
Frank's  protestations,  she  left  mother  and  son 
alone  together. 

"  I  have  but  few  words  to  say,  Frank,"  began 
Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  ;t  You  probably  already  sur 
mise  their  import." 

"  You  mean,  I  suppose,  that  you  want  to  go 
over  the  old  ground  again  ;  to  tell  me  that  I  am 
a  disgrace  and  burden  to  you  ;  reproach  me  for 
my  lack  of  pride  and  my  contumacy  generally," 
said  the  young  man,  acrimoniously. 

"  If  I  thought  any  such  reproaches,  or  any 
appeal  that  a  mother  could  make  to  a  son,  would 
be  of  the  least  avail,  Frank  Gildersleeve,  I  would 
gladly  make  them.  But  it  has  got  beyond  that. 
I  have  come  to  tell  you  of  my  determination,  not 
to  reason  with  you,  or  to  beseech  you  to  change 
your  habits  of  life.  It  is  too  late  for  that." 

"  Too  late  indeed  !  "  cried  the  young  man,  start- 


400        FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  HIS  MOTHER. 

ing  up  to  a  sitting  posture.  "And  whose  fault  is 
it  that  it  is  too  lute?  Not  mine  alone.  I  know 
that  I  have  been  wild.  I  know  that  I  have  not 
been  a  good  son ;  that  I  have  scarcely  ever  per 
formed  a  worthy  deed.  I  feet  that  my  life  has 
been  a  sad  mistake ;  that  I  have  crowded  into 
rny  brief  span  of  years  a  mass  of  sin  and  shame 
and  wickedness  that  should  long  since  have  con 
signed  me  to  a  felon's  cell  or  to  an  untimely  grave. 
But  when  I  see  you  turn  against  me  !  You,  my 
own,  yet  unnatural  mother  !  Then  !  ah  !  ah  ! 
nothing  but  the  awe  I  have  for  a  parent,  and  my 
reverence  for  God,  could  stay  my  vengeful  hand." 

Then  with  clinched  hands  and  rolling  eyes  he 
sank  back  exhausted  and  fell  asleep,  Mrs.  Gilder- 
sleeve  watching  the  mean  while.  When  he  awoke 
he  said,  — 

"  Why  are  these  doctors  again  here,  and  feeling 
my  pulse?  I  am  not  sick.  I  am  neither  sick 
nor  am  I  insane.  Why  call  them  here?" 

"You  cannot  govern  your  appetite,"  said  the 
mother.  "  I  am  going  to  send  you  to  the  asylum." 

"  What !  You  !  You,  my  mother  !  You  who 
still  give  liquor  to  your  guests,  and  sneer  at  tee- 
totalism  !  Can  you,  mother,  incarcerate  your  only 
son  for  habits  you  have  taught  him  ?  " 

"The  mansion  must  be  closed.  We  cannot 
leave  you  at  liberty.  You  have  disgraced  the 


SENT   TO   THE    ASYLUM.  401 

family  long  enough.  Society  demands  your 
restraint." 

"  Society  !  Society  !  What  has  Society  done 
for  me?  What  do  I  owe  to  Society?  It  has 
taught  me  to  drink,  to  swear,  to  gamble.  It 
is  heartless,  ii.s  chief  religion  is  selfish  greed. 
Even  ministers  of  your  own  creed  are  members 
of  the  drinking  club.  Society  !  Society  !  Did  you 
say?  Ah!  I  hate  it!  I  hate  its  very  name. 
]\Iy  blood  curdles  at  the  thought.  Society  once 
petted  me  and  flattered  me.  I  was  its  idol.  But 
now  it  casts  me  off.  I  am  no  longer  its  ornament, 
but  its  victim.  Victim  of  pampered  wealth  and 
luxury."  He  continued:  — 

"  Oh  !  that  I  had  been  the  son  of  a  hodman,  a 
ploughman,  a  tradesman,  a  mechanic,  —  anything 
but  the  son  of  a  rich  man.  Then  I  should  have 
been  taught  a  trade,  had  developed  physical  health 
and  happiness,  and  not  have  been  too  proud  to 
stoop,  and  too  indolent  to  work.'' 

"  But  you  have  wrought  your  own  destruction, 
and  must  suffer  the  penalty." 

"  Yes,  my  mother,  in  part  I  have.  But  have  I 
not  suffered  enough  ?  Do  not  crowd  me.  Do  not 
persecute  me  !  Do  not,  as  a  mother,  treat  me 
worse  than  a  felon !  The  worst  criminal  is 
allowed  trial  by  judge  and  jury.  If  guilty,  his 
incarceration  is  limited,  —  limited  to  a  few  months 


402         FRANK'S  APPEAL  10  HIS  MOTHER. 

or  years,  at  most.  If  innocent,  he  is  set  free, — 
free  as  the  air  he  breathes.  Now  this  appetite 
you  implanted  in  me,  it  will  last  forever.  Then 
am  I  to  be  forever  held  in  duranee  for  your  sin  ? 
Who  is  to  set  me  free?  Who,  when  you  are 
away  to  Europe  ? 

"You  say  I  cannot  be  trusted.  Admit  it.  I 
am  but  a  worm,  or  I  should  not  submit  to  this. 
But  whom  have  I  injured  by  my  conduct?  Who 
is  hurt  by  my  fall?  What  bills  are  not  paid? 
What  hackman  not  rewarded?  What  policeman 
not  fed?  What  person  ever  assaulted?  Nothi- 
ing  suffers  but  Society.  Ah,  yes]  That  very 
Society  which  has  made  me  what  I  am,  — the  sot', 
you  see  !  Oh  !  mother,  listen  !  Listen  to  my 
word.  Before  you  touch  another  glass,  before 
you  again  put  the  bottle  to  your  own  lips,  or  your 
neighbors'  lips,  before  you  forget  the  besotted 
death  of  my  elder  brother,  and  the  sudden  demise 
of  my  father,  oh  !  stop  and  think  !  Stop  !  stop  ! 
before  you  say  the  only  son  of  Augustus  Gilder- 
sleeve  shall  die  in  an  insane  asylum  !  " 

"  But  you  may  not  die  !  You  may  recover." 
"Recover!  No!  Never!  The  blow  is  struck. 
This  last,  this  heaviest  stroke  has  already  broken 
my  heart.  As  sure  as  you  go  abroad  and  leave 
your  son  in  a  prison  cell,  you  will  never  again 
see  him  alive.  I  never  asked  for  an  existence.  I 


SENT    TO    THE    ASYLUM.  403 

shall  not  retain  it  long.  The  mother  that  gave  me 
life, — she  can  have  it  back.  Hear  it,  mother! 
Hear  me  !  Ere  your  foot  touches  this  threshold 
again,  Frank  Gildersleeve  is  in  his  grave." 

"  It  is  useless  for  you  to  go  on  in  this  strain," 
said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  coldly,  as  he  paused. 
"  My  time  is  too  brief  now  to  listen  to  the  wander 
ings  of  a  distempered  imagination." 

"  But  you  shall  hear  me  ! "  cried  the  unhappy 
youth,  roused  to  a  pitch  of  wild  excitement  by  his 
mother's  bearing.  "  I  have  stood  in  awe  of  you 
since  my  earliest  childhood.  You  have  chilled 
and  repressed  every  source  of  pure  and  natural 
feeling  in  my  breast.  I  can  remember  how  you 
repulsed  my  childish  pro ff  rs  of  affection  ;  how  you 
turned  a  cold  ear  to  my  lisping  words  of  love,  and 
ordered  me  into  the  nursery,  and  to  the  care  of 
hirelings,  lest  I  should  discompose  your  fashion 
able  attire,  or  my  touch  should  desecrate  or  soil 
your  ribbons  or  laces.  Such  was  the  subjection 
you  kept  me  in,  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
that  I  have  never  had  a  will  of  my  own.  You  and 
your  example  first  led  me  to  court  the  fascinations 
of  the  winecup.  At  the  family  meal  I  first  tasted 
strong  drink,  for  wine  in  this  house  has  always 
been  as  free  and  plenty  as  water ;  and  that  taste 
has  grown  to  a  desire,  and  that  desire  to  an  appe 
tite,  and  that  appetite  to  a  frenzy,  until  it  has  left 


404         FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  HIS  MOTIIEK. 

me  the  weak  and  debased  creature  you  see  before 

_ — *-—.  . . — — 

you,  -/-  without  a  joy,  without  a  care,  ay  !  and  with 
out  a  hope  to  cheer  me  !  Oh  !  mother  !  mother  ! 
Can  you  stand  there,  as  unmoved,  as  icily  cold  as  a 
marble  statue ;  can  you  look  down  upon  the 
utter  and  wretched  ruin  of  your  only  son,  without 
one  sign  of  pity  and  love,.  —  without  a  sigh,  with 
out  a  single  tear  ?  " 

He  paused  as  if  he  had  hoped  by  this  passionate 
appeal  to  rouse  some  dormant  spark  of  maternal 
feeling  in  that  proud  bosom  ;  but  he  might  as  well 
have  uttered  those  heart-rending  words  to  the 
in-inimate  marble  itself  as  to  that  frozen,  immov 
able  semblance  of  a  woman. 

"  When  you  have  finished  these  wild  ravings, 
Frank  Giidersleeve,"  she  said  still  coldly,  as  he 
paused,  "  which  I  regard  as  the  evidence  of  a 
disordered  mind  merely,  I  will  inform  you  of  the 
matters  which  induced  me  to  come  here." 

"  Ravings,  you  call  them !  "  exclaimed  the 
young  man,  driven  almost  to  the  verge  of  mad 
ness.  "  Oh  !  cruel,  iron-hearted  mother  !  Can 
such  an  anomaly  in  nature  exist?  Can  a  mother 
shut  out  every  spark  of  sympathy  for  her  only 
son  ?  Can  she  see  him  lying  before  her  eyes,  sick 
unto  death,  crushed  in  spirit  and  hope,  yearning 
for  one  loving  word,  one  pitying  glance,  one 
tender  caress,  and  not  feel  the  tie  of  nature ; 


RF.XT    TO    THE    ASYLUM.  405 

experience  no  quickening  throb,  no  human  sym- 
patlietic  emotion?  Such  cold,  such  cruel  heart- 
lessness  would  shame  a  heathen  parent !  Oh  !  " 
he  cried,  clasping  his  trembling  hands  in  a  gesture 
of  the  most  piteous  supplication,  "  Oh  !  mother  ! 
for  the  love  of  heaven,  for  humanity's  sake,  in 
the  sacred  name  of  God,  show  me  by  a  word,  a 
look,  a  sigh  even,  that  you  are  not  all  marble, 
that  I  am  not  the  offspring  of  a  callous,  heartless, 
soulless  monster ! " 

The  energy  which  had  sustained  the  young  man 
in  this  burning  appeal,  which  seemed  to  be  wrung 
from  his  very  soul,  left  him  with  the  last  words, 
and  lie  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears  as  he  again 
fell  back. 

Not  even  this  sufficed  to  move  the  implacable 
woman.  Not  a  nerve  trembled,  not  an  eyelid 
quivered.  AVhether  that  terrible  appeal,  which 
was  also  an  awful  accusation,  pierced  the  armor 
which  she  had  accustomed  herself  to  wear  over 
every  feeling,  was  known  to  herself  alone.  Per 
haps  in  after  years  that  scene  may  rise  up  and 
confront  her,  bringing  with  it  an  agony  of 
remorse  and  unavailing  regret ! 

But  now,  she  only  waves  her  hand  impatiently, 
as  she  says  in  measured  tones,  — 

"  Now  that  you  have  apparently  exhausted  this 
tragic  strain,  Frank  Gildersleeve,  please  listen  to 


406        FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  ins  MOTHER. 

me.  You  know  that  I  have  long  planned  to  take 
your  sister  with  me  to  Europe  this  season.  Ger 
trude's  health  absolutely  requires  the  change.  All 
our  arrangements  were  perfected,  and  we  were  to 
have  started  this  week.  Your  folly,  which  has 
resulted  in  your  present  illness,  has  to  some  ex 
tent  disarranged  our  plans.  But  I  do  not  feel 
called  upon  to  give  them  up  entirely,  and  have 
merely  postponed  our  departure  for  a  day  or  two. 
AVhile  we  are  gone  this  house  will  be  shut  up, 
consequently  it  will  be  necessary  that  you  should 
be  removed  to  some  other  place,  where  you  can 
have  proper  care  and  medical  attendance.  Do 
you  follow  me  so  far  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank,  bitterly.  "  You  mean  that 
you  are  going  to  leave  me  to  the  care  of  strangers 
and  mercenaries." 

"I  repeat,  that  you  will  have  the  best  of  care 
and  attention,  and  when  we  return  I  hope  to  find 
you  a  changed  and  a  better  man." 

"  Where  am  I  to  be  taken,  mother?" 

"  Not  a  great  ways  from  here,"  said  Mrs.  Gil- 
dersleeve,  evasively.  "It  is  enough  for  you  to 
know  at  present  that  you  will  be  left  in  good 
hands." 

"  Oh  !  Let  me  remain  here  !  Let  me  die  in  my 
own  home  !  "  moaned  the  youth.  "  Mother,  I  do 
not  think  I  am  long  for  this  world.  Do  not  go 
away  !  Do  not  leave  me  to  die  alone  ! " 


SENT    TO    THE    ASYLUM.  407 

"  There 's  no  danger  of  your  dying,  Frank. 
Your  physicians  assure  me  that  you  will  speedily 
recover  your  bodily  health." 

"  When,  then,  do  you  intend  to  make  this 
change  ?  When  are  you  going  to  Europe  ?  " 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  the  steamer  in  which  we 
have  taken  state-rooms  will  sail." 

"Oh!  my  God!"  moaned  Frank.  "So  soon! 
When  am  I  to  be  removed?" 

"  To-morrow  morning.  Now,  as  you  will  prob 
ably,  desire  to  see  Gertrude,  and  as  there  will  be 
no  opportunity  to-morrow,  I  will  send  her  to  you. 
I  am  glad  to  find  that  on  the  whole  you  take  this 
so  calmly." 

And  so  saying,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  passed  out  of 
the  room.  She  little  knew  what  was  passing  in 
her  son's  mind.  She  had  been  unable  to  deceive 
him  altogether  about  the  destination  to  which  she 
had  resolved  to  send  him.  He  felt  that  she  had 
in  view  some  project  that  menaced  him  with  the 
loss  of  his  liberty.  What  that  project  was,  he 
hardly  dared  imagine.  But  he  knew  that  he  was 
in  too  helpless  a  state  to  oppose  her  will.  A  few 
moments  later  Gertrude  entered  the  apartment. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  dear  Frank,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
are  so  sick.  Mamma  has  told  you  that  we  are 
going  day  after  to-morrow,  and  I  have  come  to 
say  good  by." 


408        FRANK'S  APPEAL  TO  ins  MOTHER. 

Frank  was  on  the  point  of  asking  her  aid  to 
thwart  the  purposes  of  his  mother,  but  on  second 
consideration  he  decided  otherwise.  Owing  to 
her  innocence  and  inexperience,  Gertrude  could 
not  render  him  any  assistance.  lie  knew  that  his 
sister  loved  her  mother  devotedly,  and  he  loved 
the  innocent  girl  too  much  to  inflict  a  pang  upon 
her  by  discovering  to  her  his  mother's  heartless- 
ness. 

"  Gerty  —  sister,"  he  said,  struggling  for  com 
posure,  "I  have  not  been  much  of  a  brother  to  you, 
but  we  have  never  quarrelled  that  I  can  remember. 
You  will  think  kindly  of  me  when — when  you 
are  away." 

"Of  course  I  will,  Frank  dear.  I  shall  never 
cease  to  think  of  you  and  to  pray  for  you.  I  wish 
you  were  going  with  us,  but  mamma  says  it  is 
impossible.  Try  and  get  well,  dear  brother,  by 
the  time  we  come  home." 

"I  shall  try,  certainly,  dear.  And  now  before 
you  say  good  by,  I  want  you  to  promise  to  do  me 
a  little  favor.  I  have  written  a  hasty  word  to 
some  one  that  you  do  not  know,  and  I  want  it  to 
be  posted  to-morrow  without  fail.  Will  you  mail 
it  for  me,  sister?  " 

"I  will,  my  dear  brother;  that's  a  very  sm-ill 
favor,  I  am  sure.  Is  there  nothing  else  I  can  do 
to  serve  you  ?  " 


SENT    TO    THE    ASYLUM.  409 

"Nothing,  Gcrty ;  nothing,  little  sister.  Oh! 
Minnie,  Minnie,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  have  I 
done?"  Then  turning  to  Gertrude.  "Think 

O 

kindly  of  me,  and  now  kiss  me  once  more. 
Good  hy  !  good  by  !  " 

"There,  there!  Oh!  how  hot  your  poor 
head  is.  Let  me  put  my  hand  upon  it.  How 
your  temples  are  throbbing  ;  let  me  sit  beside  you 
and  keep  my  hand  upon  your  head  until  you  fall 
asleep.  There,  now,  doesn't  that  feel  better?" 

"It  does;  it  does,  a  great  deal  better,  Gerty." 
And  Frank  fell  into  a  doze,  murmuring,  "God 
bless  you,  little  sister  !  God  bless  you  !  " 

Gertrude  sat  by  his  bedside  with  her  hand  upon 
his  head,  until  his  regular  breathing  told  her  he 
was  asleep.  Then  she  left  the  apartment  on 
tiptoe. 

She  found  her  mother  waiting  outside  of  the 
door. 

"  What  letter  is  that  you  have  in  your  hand, 
Gertrude?"  queried  Mrs.  Gilderslceve. 

Gertrude  informed  her.  "  Very  well ;  give  it 
to  me,  and  I  will  see  that  it  is  sent." 

But  the  message  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  sent  was  : 

"  Frank  has  been  sent  to  a  Lunatic  Asylum, 
h opelesxty  in sa n ef" 

The  next  day  Frank  Gildersleeve  was  taken 
away  in  a  close  carriage,  whither  he  knew  not. 


410        FRANK'S  APPEAL,  TO  ins  MOTHER. 

Two  days  later  Mrs.  Gildcrslccve  and  Gertrude 
departed  for  Europe,  and  the  elegant  mansion  on 
Beacon  Hill  \vas  closed  for  the  season,  left  solely 
to  the  guardianship  of  the  faithful  Sambo  and  Mrs. 
Dawkins. 

"I  forbid  any  of  my  servants  to  visit  Frank  in 
his  retreat,"  said  Mrs.  Gilderslecve,  sternly,  "as 
they  would  distract  his  mind,  cause  him  to  be 
discontented,  and  make  recovery  doubtful/' 

"Then  I  must  see  him  once  alone  by  myself 
before  he  leaves,"  said  Mrs.  Dawkins.  "This  may 
be  my  last  sight  of  the  dear  boy." 

What  transpired  in  that  interview  may  appear 
in  the  sequel.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Mrs.  Daw- 
kins's  sympathy  for  poor  Frank  lost  her,  at  last, 
her  situation. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

IN   A    MAD-HOUSE.  —  FUNERAL   WITHOUT    A    MOURXER. 

THE  light  of  a,  wintry  dawn  streamed  in  at  the 
grated  window  of  a  room  in  Dr.  Mildmuy's  cele 
brated  asylum  for  the  insane.  That  chill  morning 
gleam  fell  upon  the  figure  of  a  young  man,  in 
whose  emaciated  and  ghastly  countenance  it  would 
l>e  difficult  to  recognize  any  trace  of  resemblance 
to  Frank  Gildersleeve.  And  yet  it  was  he. 

In  a  weak  and  semiconscious  state,  Frank  had 
been  conveyed  to  the  institution.  The  thirst  for 
intoxicating  stimulants  which  was  consuming  him 
had  been  indulged  at  the  last  moment  by  advice 
of  the  physicians  whom  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  had 
consulted,  as  the  surest  means  to  produce  a  quies 
cent  state.  It  was  thus  he  had  reached  the  asy 
lum.  For  three  days  he  had  now  been  in  the 
hands  of  Dr.  Mildmay,  and  as  yet  had  not  been 
awakened  to  a  realizing  sense  of  his  situation. 

Was  Frank  Gildersleeve  insane? 

It  would  be  a  difficult  question  to  decide,  even 
with  the  help  of  a  legislative  investigating  com 
mittee,  how  many  people  are  yearly  immured  in 


412  IN    A    MAD-TIOUSE. 

such  retreats,  who  are  in  the  full  and  complete 
possession  of  their  faculties.  Society,  in  its 
anxious  regard  for  its  own  safety,  frequently 
encroaches  on  the  rights  and  liberties  of  its  indi 
vidual  members.  The  Golden  Age  of  personal 
security  has  not  yet  arrived,  hut  we  may  fer 
vently  thank  heaven  that  our  epoch  exhibits  a 
striking  advancement  in  this  respect  over  other 
periods,  in  the  multiplied  and  increasing  safe 
guards  which  are  being  thrown  around  individual 
rights. 

The  certificate  of  two  physicians  of  high  stand 
ing  had  pronounced  Frank  Gildersleeve  insane. 
1 1  is  frequent  fits  of  violence  would  seem  to  sus 
tain  their  conclusion.  That  he  was  rational  on 
many  points  did  not  militate  against  the  position 
they  had  taken.  His  excessive  dissipation  had 
undoubtedly  weakened  his  mind,  and  there  were 
indications  that  softening  of  the  brain,  if  it  had 
not  already  set  in,  could  only  be  retarded  by  a 
course  of  treatment.  There  is  no  question  but 
the  unfortunate  young  man  might  have  been  safely 
treated  in  his  own  home.  This,  however,  did  not 
suit  the  wishes  or  the  convenience  of  his  proud 
and  cold-hearted  mother,  and  so  he  had  been 
sentenced  to  the  retreat  of  Dr.  Mildmay.  For 
three  days  Frank  had  remained  in  this  apathetic 
.state,  submitting  generally  to  all  that  was  required 


FUNERAL  WITHOUT  A  MOURNER.      413 

of  him,  but  at  last  manifesting  impatience,  and 
on  one  occasion  breaking  out  into  a  fit  of  such 
extreme  violence  that  he  had  been  placed  for 
safety  in  a  padded  cell.  It  is  here  that  we  now 
lind  him. 

He  moves  restlessly  in  his  slumber,  and  every 
now  and  then  mutters  some  incoherent  words. 

Suddenly  he  shrieks  out,  — 

"  No  !  No  !  It  was  not  my  doings  !  I  never 
meant  to  harm  you.  Oh  !  Minnie  !  Minnie  !  Oh  ! 
my  God !  Why  did  I  ever  leave  you,  dear 
Minnie  ?  Ah  !  Minnie  would  not  have  forsaken 
me  in  my  trouble  nor  turned  me  oft*  as  my  mother 
has." 

His  eyes  unclose  as  he  starts  up  in  bed,  and 
passes  his  hand  slowly  over  his  forehead. 

"  It  was  only  a  dream,  after  all,"  he  murmurs, 
his  gaze  slowly  travelling  around  the  apartment. 
"Ha!  Am  I  awake  or  am  I  still  dreaming? 
What  does  this  mean?  Where  am  I?  Not  at 
home,  surely  !  I  can't  remember  any  such  room 
as  this  in  the  house  !  Where  is  all  my  handsome 
furniture?  "  he  says,  looking  at  the  walls.  "Where 
my  pictures  and  books,  and  all  my  costly  knick- 
knacks  and  trifles?  Why,  this  place  is  as  bare  as 
a  tomb  !  Not  a  chair,  not  a  table  !  Ha  !  what  am 
I  lying  on  ?  A  mattress  laid  on  the  floor  —  no 
bed  ?  What  docs  it  mean  ?  " 


414  IN   A   MAD-HOUSE. 

No  glimpse  of  the  terrible  truth  as  yet  breaks 
in  upon  his  mind.  He  stares  curiously  at  the 
Avails  on  either  hand,  which  are  all  covered  with 
the  thick  pad  designed  to  prevent  the  patient  from 
beating  out  his  brains  during  some  paroxysm  of 
madness.  He  touches  it,  strikes  it  with  his 
clinched  fist,  then  springs  to  an  erect  position  and 
presses  both  hands  to  his  brow  in  mute  bewilder 
ment. 

Above  his  head,  at  the  end  of  the  room,  he  now 
perceives  a  grated  window.  To  this  object  he 
feebly  moves,  with  the  same  wondering  and 
bewildered  expression  on  his  face.  But  the  win 
dow-sill  is  high  above  his  reach.  Slowly  he 
retreats  backward,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the 
window,  until  he  arrives  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  room.  From  this  angle  of  sight  he  can  see 
something  of  the  outside  world,  and  seemingly 
hung  in  mid-sky,  a  large,  bright  oval  object  on 
which  the  rays  of  the  dawn  are  playing.  It  is  the 
distant  dome  of  the  State  House,  and  its  associa 
tions  instantly  recall  his  scattered  recollections. 
Like  a  flash  of  light,  memory  irradiates  his 
obscured  mental  vision.  His  last  interview  with 
his  mother,  the  examination  of  the  two  physicians 
and  their  significant  observations  not  then  under 
stood,  and  all  that  had  occurred  on  that  day,  came 
back  to  him  like  a  swift,  rus^iiiff  tide. 

'  O 


FUNERAL  WITHOUT  A  MOURNER.      415 

"Heaven  help  me  !  "  he  cries,  tearing  his  hair  in 
ft  sudden  frenzy.  "  I  see  it  all  now  !  My  moth 
er's  threat  has  been  indeed  fulfilled  !  I  could  not, 
dared  not  believe  she  would  go  to  that  extremity. 
May  God  forgive  her !  She  has  put  me  in  a  mad 
house." 

He  flung  himself  upon  the  floor,  grovelling 
there  in  abject  misery,  uttering  loud  moans  and 
piercing  cries. 

"  Sambo,  Sambo  !  will  nobody  come  to  speak 
to  me  ?  Locked  up  and  alone  !  What  can  this 
mean?  Hillo,  there!  Does  anybody  hear  me? 
My  God,  my  head  is  splitting  and  I  am  afraid  to 
be  alone.  Hillo  !  hillo  !  No  answer  !  Oh  for  a 
friend  —  a  hackman,  a  bar-tender,  a  servant,  the 
bootblack  who  used  to  black  my  boots — any 
body  !  O  my  God  !  why  am  I  locked  up  in  this 
place  and  left  here  alone  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"Shut  up  !  "  said  a  gruff  voice. 

"  Ah  !  somebody  at  last,"  exclaimed  the  miser 
able  youth;  "thank  God  for  his  presence,  even 
though  he  prove  an  enemy;  say,  Avho 's  there?" 

"  You  keep  quiet  or  it  will  be  worse  for  you." 

"  Let  me  out !  " 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"Where  am  I?" 

"  'Sylum." 

"What?'* 


416  IN    A   MAD-HOUSE. 

"'Sylum,  of  course." 

''What  kind  of  an  asylum?" 

"  What  kind  ?     Insane  'sylum,  of  course." 

"Insane  asylum!  O,  I'll  soon  get  out  of  this 
place.  I  '11  write  a  note  to  Forceps  at  once,  and  he 
will  soon  get  me  out." 

"  You  may  write  as  many  notes  as  you  please,'' 
said  the  keeper;  "they  won't  go  out  of  here. 
You  've  come  here  for  your  good,  and  have  been 
committed  reg'lar,  everything  properly  done,  — 
doctors'  certificates  all  correct.  Physicians  in 
good  standing — respectable,  learned  —  make  in 
sanity  a  special  study.  No  good  for  you  to  kick. 
You  are  here,  and  here  you  must  stay  till  your 
friends  give  the  order  for  restoring  you  to  liberty." 
So  saying,  the  keeper  moved  off,  and  Frank  was 
again  left  alone. 

His  thoughts  were  bitter. 

"  An  insane  asylum,"  he  soliloquized  ;  "  it  has 
come  to  this  at  last.  Placed  here  to  preserve  the 
credit  of  the  Gildcrsleeve  family.  The  keeper  is 
right.  Here  I  must  stay,  until  those  who  incarcer 
ated  me  give  the  order  for  my  release.  If  I  had 
committed  a  burglary  and  been  sentenced  to  the 
State  prison,  I  would  be  discharged  at  the  expira 
tion  of  my  sentence.  If  I  was  arrested  for  any 
crime,  I  would  have  a  fair  trial,  and  if  shown  to  be 
innocent,  would  be  discharged.  If  found  guilty, 


FUNERAL  WITHOUT  A  MOURNER.      417 

the  term  of  my  imprisonment  would  be  stated, 
and  I  might  shorten  that  by  good  conduct.  Nay, 
if  I  were  even  sold  into  slavery,  or  cast  away  on 
a  desert  island,  I  might  hope  for  redemption  or 
rescue,  but  there's  no  hope  of  liberation  from  a 
mad-house  until  it  please  those  to  relent  who 
placed  me  here.  I  may  stay  here  for  life.  The 
door  has  closed  behind  me.  Family  pride  stands 
between  me  and  liberty.  Oh,  heaven,  why  are 
such  outrages  permitted  in  a  free  and  enlightened 
country?  It  would  have  taken  twelve  men  to 
deprive  me  of  liberty  if  I  had  been  accused  of 
crime.  I  have  done  nothing  against  the  law,  yet 
the  purchased  signatures  of  a  couple  of  rascally 
physicians  are  enough  to  hold  me  here  forever. 
Oh,  that  I  hadn't  drank  that  brandy!  There's 
where  they  got  their  advantage.  I  'm  doomed  ! 
Oh,  for  a  friend — anybody  that  cares  for  Frank 
Gildersleeve  !  But  nobody  cares  for  me  !  I  'm 
as  friendless  as  the  most  miserable  outcast.  The 
only  one  that  ever  cared  for  me  I  cast  oft'.  Oh  ! 
Minnie  !  Minnie  !  Forgive  me  !  God  is  taking 
vengeance  on  me  for  that  wrong.  They  say  the 
man  who  wins  a  woman's  love  and  tramples  upon 
it  never  prospers.  The  curse  is  falling  on  my 
head  !  Vengeance  is  on  my  track.  How  I  shake  ! 
Oh,  for  a  glass  of  brandy  !  I  '11  soon  go  mad  !  Oh, 
my  God  !  my  God  !  how  will  this  end  !  I  'm  going 

27 


418  IN    A  MAD-HOUSE. 

to  have  delirium  tremens,  and  then  it 's  all  up  with 
Frank  Gildersleeve  ! " 

"How  do  you  feel?  " 

Frank  looked  up  and  saw  a  face  peering  through 
the  wicket  of  his  cell  door. 

"  Miserable  !  "  he  answered. 

"You  must  keep  calm." 

"  How  long  am  I  to  remain  here  ?  " 

"  Till  you  are  cured." 

"Cured  of  what?" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  that 's  good  ;  the  old  story.  You  are 
sane,  I  suppose." 

"I  am  just  now,  but  I  don't  expect  to  be  so 
long,  if  I  am  kept  here." 

"Oh,  don't  abuse  us.  We  don't  take  people  in 
here  to  make  thorn  insane,  but  to  cure  them. 
This  is  one  of  the  finest  institutions  in  the  State." 

"I  will  pay  you  well,  if  you  will  let  me  out." 

"  Your  mother  will  pay  me  better  for  keeping 
you  in." 

"  My  mother  !  my  mother  !  "  cried  the  astonished 
man  ;  then  ho  paused  and  stared  !  "  My  mother  I 
Ah!  Did  my  mother  send  me  here?"  And  his 
bosom  heaved,  and  big  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheek  ;  he  fell  back  at  last  in  despair.  How  long 
he  lay  he  knew  not,  but  when  he  awoke  he  was 
sobered,  completely  sobered  from  intoxication. 

"  My  mother  !  "  he  said,  as  he  gazed  at  the  barred 


FUNERAL  WITHOUT  A  MOURNER.      419 

window  with  his  waking  eyes,  and  looking  out 
upon  the  world  which  he  had  lost.  "  My  mother  !  " 
That  name  seemed  like  a  sweet  bird  to  him ;  a 
bird  of  hope  and  love.  A  bird  with  bright  wings 
and  fair  plumage  ;  but  alas  !  to  be  seen  no  more  ! 
That  bird  of  motherly  hope  seemed  just  flown  out 
of  that  window,  never  to  return.  He  gazed  and 
gazed,  and  poured  out  his  thoughts  towards  the 
blue  sky  in  utter  despair.  "  My  mother !  could 
she  do  it  ?  Ah  !  alas  !  I  have  no  mother  !  She 
is  not  my  mother !  She  has  disowned  me  !  I 
have  no  hope,  no  friend  on  earth  now." 

And  from  that  moment  Frank  Gildersleeve 
lost  all  spirit,  and  resolved  to  die.  Day  by  day 
he  grew  thin  and  pale,  his  head  bowed,  his  heart 
fainting,  his  spirits  drooping  like  a  clipped  bird 
that  had  fallen  from  the  soaring  flock  with  no 
more  courage  to  rise.  Once  more  only  did  he 
mount  to  that  window,  gaze  upon  the  Capitol 
dome,  see  Beacon  Hill,  witness  the  shades  of 
his  home,  and  the  fortune,  the  fountains  and  trees 
which  he  was  never  more  to  enjoy. 

A  telegram  was  sent  to  the  mother,  fr  If  you 
don't  come  soon,  you  will  not  see  your  son  alive.'' 
That  proud  mother  did  not  come,  and  the  poor 
boy  died  among  strangers.  By  stranger  hands 
his  eyes  were  closed.  By  stranger  hands  laid  into 
his  coffin,  and  by  stranger  feet  followed  to  the 


420  IN   A   MAD-HOUSE. 

tomb.  By  stranger  hands  settled  to  his  last  rest 
ing-place,  by  stranger  hands  the  sod  is  covered. 

Thus  died  the  eloquent,  the  gifted,  the  hand 
some,  the  generous  Frank  Gildersleeve.  Died  in 
sight  of  his  fortune,  his  home,  and  of  Harvard's 
halls  he  once  adorned  ;  died  without  a  watcher  or 
a  friend. 

Why  did  he  fall  ?  Why  ?  Because  of  culture 
without  a  conscience.  Because  of  liberalism.  "  Go 
as  you  please "  doctrines  of  life.  Itteacheg^no 
self-denial.  No  heroic  self-sacrifice.  It  sets  up  the 
decanter  in  place  of  the~altai\ Science  for_relig- 
ion.  Molecules  for  God.  It  gives  no  warning  to 
the  ungodly.  If  your  house  is  on  fire,  it  sounds  no 
alarm.  If  a  drawbridge  is  open,  gives  no  signal, 
no  warning.  No  streets  marked  "  dangerous." 
No  tide  waiter  to  shut  the  gates  of  sin.  Pulpits 
must  stand  with  Quaker  guns  and  blank  cartridges, 
never  firing  upon  the  advancing  foe,  never  strik 
ing  the  thunder-clap  of  reform.  So  I  am  blamed, 
harshly  blamed,  for  making  this  exposure,  reveal 
ing  Boston's  sins  and  sounding  the  tocsin  of  alarm  ! 

One  time  Frank  was  serious.  It  was  at  D.  L. 
Moody's  Tabernacle  meetings.  He  felt  himself 
lost  and  wished  to  be  saved.  Then  it  was  that  a 
certain  liberal  preacher  assailed  the  evangelist  and 
his  work. 

His  pulpit  had  no  Quaker  guns  now.     The  shots 


FUNERAL  WITHOUT  A  MOURNER.      421 

\vere  hot  and  heavy.  But  alas !  they  were  fired, 
not  against  the  foe,  but  against  the  Redeemer's 
kingdom.  Oh,  what  a  blow  was  that  to  the 
hopes  of  the  lost !  Christ's  own  blood-redeemed 
fort,  turned  against  its  builder !  Why  choose  a 
pulpit  to  assail  the  Bible?  Why  take  a  church? 
Why  call  yourself  Christian?  Ah!  You  kno\\r 
that  the  fodder  comes  only  through  the  fold  of  the 
Shepherd.  So  you  stay  for  the  fodder  and  starve 
the  sheep.  Why  not  take  a  hall  and  call  it  by  a 
heathen  name?  Go  under  true  colors?  Ah,  then 
you  couldn't  sustain  yourself  twelve  months,  and 
you  know  it !  Oh  !  Christianity  !  Christianity  ! 
What  foes  assume  thy  garb  !  What  shepherds 
fatten  in  thy  pastures  ! 

Those  assaults  upon  the  saving  grace  of  God 
met  with  rounds  of  applause.  Kid-gloved  gentry 
clapped  their  hands  !  Gold-headed  canes  came 
down  with  a  "  thump  "  !  Excited  men  with  brandy 
breaths  whispered,  "  That  is  the  preaching  for  me." 
Why  does  such  a  man  take  $5,000  a  year  for  pull 
ing  down  what  he  cannot  build  up  in  fifty  years  ? 
Why  stand  inside  the  walls  to  fire  your  Master's 
fort?  Why  not  comedown,  come  out !  Stand  on 
your  manhood,  not  on  a  borrowed  name  !  Go 
with  your  class !  Go  where  the  fifty -and-four 
have  already  gone  in  Boston.  Gone  into  retire 
ment.  Gone  where  the  "woodbine  twineth." 


422  IN    A    MAD-HOUSE. 

Frank's  mother  fell  in  with  the  views  of  Mood y's 
assailant.  Her  son  saved  by  grace  ?  No,  never! 
Better  not  be  saved  at  all.  So  he  died !  But 
extremes  meet  and  vibrate.  Beacon  Hill  drifts 
towards  Catholicism.  Frank's  sister,  Gertrude, 
is  all  devotion,  in  fact  she  is  crazed  with  church 
mania.  She  intends  to  abandon  the  world,  join 
a  convent,  and  give  the  Gildersleeve  estate  to  the 
charities  of  the  church.  We  will  see,  time  will 
determine. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

MINNIE     FOUND     AT     LAST.  —  PATHETIC     MEETING     OF 
CHILD    AND    PARENTS. 

"  I  swow !  If  we  hain't  stumbled  square  on  the 
house  !  "  said  Jonathan  Jerks,  stopping  before  a 
large  brick  dwelling  at  the  South  End. 

"  Yes,  sah,  Marse  Jerks  !  "  said  Sambo.  "  I  de- 
clar'  if  dar  ain't  Madame  Chastini's  name  on  de 
door.  Golly  !  We  're  in  luck  for  sure  dis  time." 

"  Run  back  quicker  'n  lightnin'  an'  tell  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Marston,  Sambo,"  cried  Jerks;  "tell  them 
we  've  found  the  place." 

And  Sambo,  delighted  to  be  of  use,  flew  to  do 
as  he  was  bidden.  Jerks  had  not  long  to  wait. 
Soon  he  descried  the  negro,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marston,  hastening  toward  him. 

The  aged  couple  were  deeply  agitated.  Their 
hopes,  so  many  times  baffled,  at  last  seemed  about 
to  be  realized. 

w  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man.  'r  You  are  sure 
that  you  are  not  mistaken,  Jonathan?" 

"  Mistaken  !  Just  look  at  the  name  on  the  door. 
No,  sir.  Go  right  up  the  steps  and  ring.  We'll 


424  MINNIE    FOUND    AT   LAST. 

stay  here  an'  see  that  they  don't  refuse  yon  admit 
tance.  If  they  do,  why  there  's  a  policeman  at  the 
corner  of  the  street,  any  we  '11  call  upon  him  if 
necessary." 

Mr.  Marston,  supporting  his  trembling  wife  up 
the  steps,  pulled  the  door-bell.  The  door  opened, 
and  a  servant,  not  without  some  hesitation,  ushered 
them  into  the  vestibule. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  the  madame?"the  girl 
asked. 

"I  want  my  daughter,  my  Minnie  I  Where, 
where  is  my  child?"  cried  Mr.  Marston,  clutching 
the  servant's  arm. 

"Oh  !  You  're  the  father  of  the  girl  that  tried 
to  kill  herself,  eh?"  said  the  servant,  brutally. 
"  Well,  she 's  up  in  room  four,  second  flight.  But 
I  don't  know  whether  you  can  see  her  or  not. 
Wait  here  and  I  '11  ask  the  madame."  And  the 
girl  hurriedly  left  them. 

While  waiting,  John  Marston  saw  in  the  adjoin 
ing  parlor  two  men,  having  the  appearance  of 
men  of  wealth  and  culture,  merchants  of  note, 
perhaps.  They  were  talking  to  two  flashily 
dressed  young  girls  who  had  just  been  called 
down  stairs  to  meet  them.  To  these  senseless, 
ignorant  butterflies  of  vanity  they  were  making 
all  sorts  of  apologies,  and  offering  tender  atten 
tions. 


MEETING    OF   CHILD    AND    PARENTS.  425 

"Pardon  me,  my  ducky,  my  darling,  have  I 
kept  you  waiting  too  long?"  said  one. 

"  Now  don't  be  angry  with  me,  my  little  pet, 
my  dolly,  my  sweetheart,  now  will  you?"  said 
the  other,  patting  her  under  the  chin. 

"  My  God !  M}r  God  !  Is  my  child  in  such  a 
house  as  this?"  said  John  Marston,  aghast,  as  he 
grazed  upon  the  gaudy  pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
overheard  this  vapid  conversation. 

"  Oh  !  I  cannot  wait,  John  !  "  said  the  agitated 
mother.  "  I  will  not  be  denied  the  sight  of  my 
child.  She  said  room  four  on  the  second  flight, 
did  she  not?" 

And  Mrs.  Marston,  while  speaking,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  advanced  quickly  to  the 
.staircase.  John  Marston,  scarcely  less  agitated 
than  his  wife,  placed  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  You  —  you  will  be  kind  and  tender  to  her, 
wife  !  "  he  said. 

"Kind  and  tender,  John!"  she  repeated,  re 
proachfully.  "  Could  I  be  harsh  and  cruel  to  our 
child  who  is  at  this  moment,  perhaps,  hovering 
on  the  border  of  the  grave?  No!  No!  I  will 
take  her  to  my  bosom  and  let  our  Minnie  see  that 
her  mother  is  the  same  to  her  as  ever  !  " 

The  moiher  dashed  up  the  two  flights,  opened 
the  door,  and  saw  upon  the  bed  a  female  form 
with  hair  dishevelled,  but  with  face  so  pale,  so 


426  MINNIE    FOUND    AT    LAST. 

attenuated  that  she  cried  in  amazement,  "Oh, 
this  is  not  ray  child,  it  cannot  be  my  daughter !  " 
And  she  gazed  doubtingly  upon  the  ghastly, 
sunken  features,  so  unlike  the  lovely  countenance 
of  her  dear  Minnie.  "No!  no!"  she  said,  hesi 
tatingly,  "  it  is  not  my  daughter !  it  cannot  be 
my  Minnie  !  my  Minnie  !  my  dear  Minnie  !  " 

Ah  !  that  word  "  Minnie  !  Minnie  !  "  falling  on 
the  dull,  cold  ear  of  the  prostrate  girl,  was  as  a 
voice  from  the  spirit  world.  "  Minnie  !  Minnie  ! " 
The  words  thrilled  her  senses ;  then  her  heart 
beat  anew,  then  a  twitch  of  the  nerve,  a  quick 
throb  of  the  pulse,  a  long  breath,  a  sigh,  a  shud 
der,  and  all  was  still  again. 

"Minnie!  Minnie!  do  you  know  me?"  Still 
that  word  "  Minnie  !  Minnie  !  "  found  response  in 
the  chords  of  her  soul,  like  the  long  silent  strings 
of  an  ^Eolian  harp  swept  by  spirit  hands.  At  its 
first  whispers,  her  half-conscious  spirit  was  wan 
dering  back  to  the  granite  hills.  Back  to  the 
heights  of  Dixville  Notch,  to  father  and  mother, 
to  warbling  brooks  and  falling  cataracts ;  to  the 
music  of  pine-trees,  the  song  of  birds,  and  all  the 
sweet  associations  of  childhood,  innocence,  and 
home. 

Then,  in  a  twinkling,  the  vision  brought  her  to 
the  perils  of  the  city.  Her  first  sight  of  Frank 
Gildersleeve,  the  plot  in  the  dentist's  office,  the 


MEETING    OF    CHILD    AND    PARENTS.  427 

mock  marriage,  as  she  feared  it  was,  her  refusal  of 
the  proffered  cup  in  Chastini's  house,  her  desertion 
by  Frank,  the  cries  and  groans  of  other  victims, 
the  suspicious  wagon  at  the  door,  her  escape,  her 
despair  at  finding  no  testimony,  no  witnesses  to 
her  marriage,  her  concealment  of  all  her  wrongs, 
like  the  wounded  dove  that  covers  with  its  finest 
feathers  the  bleeding  hurt,  striving  to  hide  it  from 
view.  Then  she  recalled  her  despair,  her  distrust 
of  God,  her  desperate  act  in  taking  the  fatal  poi 
son,  her  pain,  her  excruciating  agony,  her  hun 
dred  deaths  in  one,  shut  out  from  every  friend, — 
all  this  came  before  her,  making  her  senses  like 
the  huddled  visions  of  a  drowning  man,  when  that 
familiar  voice  breathing  the  words,  "  Minnie  !  dear 
Minnie  !  "  fell  upon  her  ear. 

Slowly  and  painfully  she  opened  her  eyes. 
Then  gazing  dreamily  upward  for  a  moment, 
what  did  she  see?  What  form?  What  face? 
Whose  swrimming  eyes?  There,  bending  over 
her  like  an  angel  from  heaven,  wras  a  form  whose 
features  were  sweeter  than  the  sunlight  of  day  ! 
"Oh!  Minnie!  Minnie!  Do  you  know  me?" 
"Ah!"  said  the  young  girl,  starting  up. 
"Where  am  I?  Who  calls  my  name?  Am  I 
awake?  Am  I  dreaming?  Ah,  heavens!  Can 
it  be?  Can  it  be?  Mother!  MOTHER!"  her 
voice  rising  to  a  shriek,  as  the  certainty  that  it 


428  MINN  IK    FOUND    AT   LAST. 

was  her  mother  suddenly  burst  upon  her  soul. 
And  with  sobs  and  tears  and  low,  broken  cries  of 
affection,  the  mother  and  daughter  were  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms.  At  length  Minnie  said,  — 

"Oh!  mother!  Have  you  come?  Have  you 
indeed  found  me  ?  " 

"  My  darling  one  !  My  dear,  dear  child  !  Why, 
oh !  why  did  you  ever  leave  your  childhood's 
home?"  And  Mrs.  Marston  in  vain  tried  to 
check  her  tears. 

"  Oh  !  would  to  God  I  had  stayed  with  you  and 
father,  and  never  come  to  Boston  !  "  murmured 
the  sick  girl. 

"But  why  did  you  not  write,  Minnie?  Think 
of  our  anxiety,  our  dreadful,  dreadful  fears  for 
your  safety  !  " 

"Oh,  forgive  me,  forgive  me,  dear  mother. 
But  I  could  not  write.  I  could  not  write.  I 
dared  not  write  to  you  the  story  of  my  sorrows  ! 
I  feared  it  would  break  your  heart,  —  that  it 
would  kill  you  !  But,  oh  !  mother,  dear,  believe 
me,  when  I  say  your  daughter  was  not  guilty, 
until  despair  drove  her  to  seek  her  own  life  !  " 

"Oh  !  I  do  believe  you,  my  child." 

"And  you  will  pardon  and  forgive  me,  mother?  " 

"  Oh  !  my  child,  how  little  you  know  a  mother's 
heart!  Pardon,  forgive  you!  Oh!  with  all  my 
heart !  With  all  my  soul !  And  may  God  forgivo 


MEETING    OF    CHILD    AND    PARENTS.  429 

you  ;  may  He  consider  your  youth,  your  despera 
tion,  your  absence  from  friends,  your  hitherto 
good  and  blameless  life  !  " 

"  Oh !  dearest  mother,  you  bring  the  only 
peace  and  comfort  that  my  heart  has  known  for 
man}",  many  weeks  !  Thank  God,  I  lived  to  see 
you  once  more  !  To  feel  your  dear  arms  around 
me  !  To  lay  my  weary  head  upon  your  bosom  ! 
Oh  !  mother,  if  you  only  knew  how  much  I  have 
suffered ;  what  bitter,  bitter  tears  I  have  shed ; 
what  utter  loneliness  and  despair  have  been  mine  ! 
Oh !  then  you  would  know  how  cruelly  I  was 
beset !  How  irresistibly  driven  to  this  wicked  and 
reckless  deed." 

''  Do  not  speak  of  it,  my  child,"  said  the  sobbing 
mother,  tenderly  taking  Minnie's  head  upon  her 
breast.  "  Oh  !  how  I  pity  and  love  you,  my  own 
dear  Minnie  !  " 

For  a  few  moments  only  the  sounds  of  sobs  and 
low  uttered  words  of  tenderness  and  affection 
were  heard  in  the  room.  Then  the  door  was 
softly  opened,  and  John  Marston,  leaning  on  his 
staff,  his  aged  frame  shaking  with  emotion,  came 
tottering  toward  the  couch.  Without  the  power 
of  words,  he  bent  down,  and  folded  his  weeping 
child  to  his  heart. 

"Father!  dear  father!  "  said  Minnie,  when  she 
could  speak,  "this  is  a  greater  happiness  than  I 


430  MINNIE    FOUND    AT    LAST. 

dared  hope  for.  Oh !  father,  can  you  forgive 
your  wicked,  sinful  daughter?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  ray  child  ;  I  do  forgive  you.  I  have 
sought  you  for  weeks  throughout  this  great  city. 
I  have  passed  toilsome  days  and  anxious,  sleepless 
nights  in  my  search.  It  was  to  save  you,  to 
rescue  and  to  forgive  you,  my  girl,  —  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning,  —  that  I  devoted  myself  to 
finding  you.  God  has  heard  my  prayer.  The 
lost  is  found  !  -  Praise,  praise  forever  to  His  holy 
name  !  " 

"  Dear,  dear  father  !  " 

"But  where,  where,"  John  Marston  suddenly 
cried,  "  where  is  the  base  man  who  deceived  and 
abandoned  you  ?  Where  is  this  double-dyed  vil 
lain?" 

"Oh,  father,"  said  Minnie,  tremulously,  "I  pray 
you  will  spare  him  !  Do  not  speak  harshly  of  — 
of  the  man  I  loved.  He  is  beyond  all  earthly 
punishment,  for,"  and  the  poor  girl  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears,  —  "  for  he  is  dead  !  " 

"  Dead  !  "  cried  both  father  and  mother. 

"Yes.  Since  I  have  lain  here  on  my  bed  of 
sickness,  I  have  been  told  that  Frank  Gildersleeve 
died  miserably,  wretchedly  in  an  asylum  for  the 
insane  !  And  I  —  I  his  betrothed,  his  wife,  could 
not  be  at  his  side,  could  not  listen  to  his  dying- 
words  ! " 


MEETING    OF    CHILD    AND    PARENTS.  431 

"  God's  will  be  done  !  "  said  the  old  man,  sol 
emnly,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven.  "He  has 
passed  beyond  the  power  of  all  earthly  tribunals. 
May  God  have  mercy  on  him  !  " 

"Oh!  Do  you  forgive  him,  father?"  said 
Minnie,  clasping  her  hands.  "Then  you  will  for 
give  your  unhappy  daughter  ?  Father  !  father  ! " 
she  cried,  with  sudden  agony,  "take  me  in  your 
arms  once  more  !  I  am  dying,  I  feel  that  I  am 
dying,  dear  father !  Kiss  me  as  you  used  to 
kiss  me  when  a  little  child !  Press  me  to  your 
heart  again  ! "  Her  voice  grew  weak  and  faint. 

"  No  !  no  !  You  shall  not  die  !  "  cried  the  heart 
broken  father.  "Minnie!  Minnie!  look  at  me  !" 
He  raised  her  head  upon  his  breast ;  her  breath 
came  feebly,  the  soft  eyelids  fell.  "  Minnie ! 
Minnie  !  speak  to  me  !  I  am  your  father  !  Mer 
ciful  God  !  Have  I  found  my  child  only  to  lose 
her?  She  must  not,  shall  not  die  !  Help  !  help  ! 
help  !  " 

The  startled  servants  rushed  into  the  room. 
"  Run  for  a  doctor,  quick  !  My  child  is  dying  ! " 

The  doctor  entered  and  applied  restoratives, 
and  quieted  their  fears.  Minnie  revived. 

"  Ah  !  It  is  not  a  dream  !  It  is  you,  father,'' 
she  murmured.  "  I  thought  I  had  dreamt  you  had 
found  me  !  Thank  God,  I  shall  not  die  among 
strangers  !  " 


432  WINNIE    FOUND    AT    LAST. 

"Don't  talk  of  dying,  Minnie.  It  will  break 
my  heart  to  have  you  die.  Live,  my  darling  ! 
Live  for  your  mother's  sake.  Live  for  your  poor 
old  father's  sake  !  " 

"  Alas !  father,  I  fear  there  is  no  hope  !  Alas  ! 
it  is  too  late  !  " 

But  it  was  not  too  late.  Minnie  Marston  was 
snatched  from  the  very  jaws  of  death.  Antidotes 
had  been  promptly  administered  when  she  first 
took  the  poison. 

Then  that  father  and  mother  fell  upon  their 
knees,  and  lifting  up  their  hearts  in  prayer, 
thanked  God  that  they  had  found  their  child  alive. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVII. 

THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  —  GERTRUDE'S   VISIONS. 

"FAix,  miss,  do  ye  belave  in  ghosts?"  asked 
Mike  the  coachman,  as  Gertrude  Gildersleeve, 
returning  from  a  journey,  alighted  from  the  car 
riage  at  the  door  of  the  family's  country  residence. 

"No,  Michael,  I  do  not.  Why  do  you  ask 
me  ?  " 

"  Faith,  all  the  sarvants  are  scared  to  death, 
miss,"  said  Mike  with  a  solemn  shake  of  his  head. 
:t  They  are  howling,  '  Holy  murder !  The  house 
is  haunted.'" 

"Haunted?     Ridiculous  !"  said  Gertrude. 

As  Gertrude  entered  the  house,  she  heard  the 
servants  wildly  complaining  to  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  mum,  I  want  me  wages,  I  want  me 
wages  ! "  cried  Bridget,  the  new  housemaid. 

"Oh  !  Holy  Virgin,  mum,  the  house  is  haunted 
—  haunted!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Murphy,  the  cook, 
rolling  her  eyes  in  terror. 

"  Oh  !  marm,  such  ghosts  !  "  ejaculated  Ara 
bella,  the  parlor-maid. 

28 


434  THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

"  Silence  ! v  cried  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "  What 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

"Oh,  mamma,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  "Michael 
says  the  house  is  haunted." 

"  Och  !  mutn/an'  so  it  is,  it  is  !  "  said  Bridget. 

"  Oh !  mum,  I  would  n't  stay  in  the  house 
another  blessed  night  for  a  million  dollars,"  mur 
mured  Mrs.  Murphy. 

"  No,  indeed,  not  for  ten  million,"  put  in  Ara 
bella. 

"  Silence  !  "  again  cried  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "I 
will  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense."  And  she 
retired  to  her  room. 

That  night  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  and  Gertrude  lie 
in  slumber.  The  servant  girls,  wild  with  affright, 
are  crouched  in  one  small  room,  trembling  and 

o 

sobbing  among  themselves.  The  night,  starless 
and  still,  shrouds  the  earth  in  impenetrable  dark 
ness.  Suddenly  a  shower  of  gravel  strikes  the 
shutters  of  the  house,  as  if  thrown  by  human 
hand.  Door-bells  ring  The  windows  rattle. 
The  wild  cries  of  a  strange  animal  are  heard  as 
he  dashes  down  the  path.  The  front  door  mys 
teriously  opens  and  a  gust  of  wind  rushes  through 
the  house.  Footsteps  are  heard  on  the  stairs. 
Pat,  pat,  pat,  they  echo  through  the  halls. 
Nearer,  nearer  they  come.  A  thundering  knock 
on  the  servants'  door,  and  a  wailing  voice  mutter 
ing  hollow  imprecations. 


GERTRUDE'S  visioxs.  435 

"  Oh  !  Holy  Mother  !  "  screams  Bridget,  cross 
ing  herself,  and  struggling  to  get  behind  her  two 
companions. 

"  Oh  !  saints  presarve  us  I  I  'm  kilt !  I  'in  kilt 
intirely  !  "  moans  Mrs.  Murphy. 

"  G — go  'way,"  implores  Arabella,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

"  Oh  !  murder  !  murder  !  "  "  Sind  for  a  praist ! 
sind  for  a  praist !  "  «  Oh  !  Mr.  Ghost !  I  '11  niver 
stale  anuther  pound  of  sugar  or  tay  frum  missus  ; 
niver  I  NIVER  ! "  are  the  cries  of  terror  and 
affright  from  the  servants'  room. 

Hark  !  a  piercing  cry  of  woe  and  sorrow  rings 
through  the  house.  Gertrude,  lying  in  dreamless 
sleep,  awakens  with  a  start.  A  strange  fear  steals 
over  her  spirit.  She  peers  into  the  darkness. 
Creak !  creak !  creak !  goes  her  chamber  door. 
Footfalls  approach  her  bedside  ;  a  shadowy  form 
looms  up  ;  an  icy  hand  is  slowly  stretched  forth 
and  laid  on  her  fair  young  forehead.  And  with  a 
remorseful  voice  ringing  in  her  ears,  Gertrude 
starts  up,  and  wildly  shrieking,  falls  back  insensi- 
sible. 

The  cry  of  Gertrude  awakens  Mrs  Gildersleeve. 
She  listens.  Hark  !  That  pat,  pat,  pat  of  un 
known  footsteps  approaches  her  room.  The  door, 
as  if  by  a  gust  of  wind,  is  blown  violently  open. 
A  sulphurous  odor  permeates  the  apartment. 


436  THK   HAUNTED   HOUSE. 

An  unaccountable  dread  seizes  her  proud  soul. 
"  Woe  !  woe  !  woe  !  "  wails  a  voice  of  sorrow,  and 
a  dim  white  figure,  waving  its  hand  in  solemn 
warning,  points  downward  to  hell. 

"  Oh  !  mamma  !  "  cried  Gertrude,  in  the  morn 
ing,  "this  house  I  really  believe  is  haunted.'' 

"Nonsense,  child!"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve, 
with  assumed  indifference,  yet  inwardly  troubled. 

"  But  it  is,"  persisted  Gertrude ;  "  a  strange, 
white  form  entered  my  room  last  night,  and 
placed  its  cold,  icy  hand  on  my  brow.  Oh  !  I  was 
so  frightened  !  " 

"  Ridiculous,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "  Tbere 
are  no  ghosts." 

In  the  kitchen,  Bridget  was  saying,  — 

"  Och  !  Bejabers  !  I  wunt  stay  anuther  day  in 
this  house,  so  I  wunt." 

f  T  was  the  divil  himself.  I  seed  his  two  eyes 
a-flamiug,  and  his  cloven  fut  a-stickin'  out,"  put  in 
Arabella,  shuddering. 

Mrs.  Flaherty,  the  coachman's  wife,  entered  the 
room. 

"  Oh  !  The  Virgin  save  us  ! "  cried  she,  cross 
ing  herself,  and  sinking  down  in  a  chair.  "I'm 
nigh  a-frightened  out  of  my  siven  sinses,  I  am." 

"  And  we  is,  marni,  likewise,"  said  Bridget. 
r"  Oh !  such  sights,  such  carryings-on  !  Enough 


GERTRUDE'S  VISIONS.  437 

to   scare    the   Holy   Mother   herself,    God    bless 
her !  " 

"Sure,  it's  jist  es  I  towld  ye.  Faix,  it's  the 
spirits  of  Mr.  Gildersleeve  and  poor  Mr.  Frank, 
so  it  is.  Sure  it 's  in  Purgatory  they  are  ! " 
gasped  Mrs.  Flaherty.  "It's  in  torments  they 
be,  'cause  no  masses  were  said  for  their  wicked 

SOAvls." 

"  Faith,  mum,  ye  're  right,  ye  are,"  cried  Mrs. 
Murphy,  holding  up  her  hands  in  horror.  "  Sure 
it 's  in  Purgatory  they  is  ;  an'  the  owld  lady  wunt 
let  thim  git  out.  A  hundred  masses  wud  do  a 
power  of  good,  they  wud  that." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  scoffed  Arabella.  "  Masses  ain't  no 
good." 

"  Howld  ye  tongue,  ye  heretic  ye ! "  crie<// 
P>ridget,  sharply. 

"  Oh !  faix  the  owld  lady  is  too  mean,  too 
mighty  stingy  to  say  masses  for  their  poor,  lost 
sowls,  that  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Murphy,  shaking  her 
head  wisely. 

"Mean!"  echoed  Bridget.  "Faith,  she'd  see 
us  all  eat  up  alive  afore  she'd  pay  for  howly 
masses." 

"Oh!  if  Father  Titus  was  only  here!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Murphy.  "  He  'd  tell  us  what  's  the 
matter,  he  would." 

"Faith,  mum,  an'  he  will  be,"  said  Mrs.  Fla- 


438  THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE. 

herty.  "  He  tould  me  he  were  a-comin'  to  see  me 
to-day ;  and  sure  there  he  is  right  at  my  door." 
And  Mrs.  Flaherty  flew  out  to  meet  Father  Titus 
,it  the  coachman's  house  in  the  yard. 

"Lord  bless  ye,  Father  Titus,"  cried  Mrs. 
Flaherty.  "  It's  jes  the  right  time  ye  have  come, 
t  is.  Miss  Gertrude  hes  jes  gut  home,  an'  is 
a'most  frightened  to  death  with  the  ghosts,  she  is. 
She  wants  to  see  ye,  oh  !  iver  so  much,  an'  I  '11  go 
right  off  an'  fetch  her,  an'  I  wunt  tell  her  mother, 
so  I  wunt." 

Gertrude  enters,  burdened  and  pale.  w  OM 
Holy  Father  !  "  she  cries.  "  It  is  not  for  myself  1 
plead.  My  dear  father's  spirit  is  in  torment.  I 
am  sure  his  spirit  appeared  to  me  last  night.  He 
laid  his  icy  hand  upon  my  brow  and  said,  f  Child  ! 
child !  oh !  will  you  not  relieve  my  soul  from 
Purgatory  ? '  With  that  he  vanished.  My  mother 
does  not  believe  in  such  things.  She  is  opposed 
to  our  Holy  Catholic  Church ;  opposed  to  my 
seeing  you  or  attending  the  church.  She  thinks 
I  am  infatuated.  Ah  !  poor  mother  !  How  little 
she  knows  I  But  oh,  Father,  if  you  ever  had  pity 
on  a  poor,  stricken  child,  a  child  worse  than  an 
orphan,  oh  !  intercede  for  me." 

"  My  child  !  Put  your  trust  in  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  She  will  protect  and  care  for  you.  You 
may  yet  be  one  of  her  favored  children,  a  virgin 
nun,  a  saint  of  God." 


GERTRUDE'S  VISIONS.  439 

"I  will!  I  will!"  cried  Gertrude,  fervidly. 
"  Oh  !  I  feel  I  ain  weak  and  sinful.  Alas  !  I  joined 
with  my  mother  to  send  poor  Frank  to  the  insane 
retreat,  and  feel  as  if  I  were  partly  the  cause  of 
his  sad  death.  Oh  !  Holy  Father  !  Pray  for  me  ! 
Pray  for  me  !  Oh  !  pray  for  the  spirits  of  my 
father  and  brother,  that  they  may  be  relieved 
from  torment." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Flaherty  came  rushing  in. 
"  Oh !  Blessed  Father ! "  she  cried  in  terror. 
"  Mrs  Gildersleeve  is  a-comin' !  " 

Father  Titus  looked  embarrassed.  But  there 
was  no  time  for  him  to  conceal  himself. 

"How  dare  you  mislead  my  daughter?"  thun 
dered  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  confronting  the  aston 
ished  priest.  "  How  dare  you  meet  her  here 
unknown  to  me?  I  know  your  secret  motives, 
your  selfish  plans.  I  more  than  suspect  that  you 
are  at  the  bottom  of  the  disturbance  at  my  house 
last  night.  It  is  part  of  your  schemes.  But  they 
shall  l>e  foiled.  The  deep  wiles  of  Catholicism 
shall  never  ensnare  my  daughter,  sir.  Soon  my 
child  will  be  worth  a  million.  That  million  you 
seek.  But  you  shall  never  have  a  dollar  of  it ! 
You  demand  high  mass  for  my  husband  at  $100. 
When  that  sum  is  paid,  his  soul,  through  your 
machinations,  will  be  crying  for  another  $100. 
No,  sir,  I  am  a  Transcendentalist.  I  believe  in 


440  THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE. 

neither  Virgin,  priest,  nor  Purgatory.  Begone,  let 
your  face  never,  never  darken  these  doors  again  !" 

For  once  Father  Titus  was  disconcerted.  He 
could  say  nothing. 

"  Oh  !  mamma  !  mamma  !  you  kill  me  !  you  kill 
me  ! "  sobbed  Gertrude,  and  she  fell  fainting  to 
the  floor. 

"  Too  bad  !  "  said  Sambo  to  himself,  walking  up 
and  down  the  hall  as  Gertrude  was  brought  in 
senseless  from  the  coachman's  house,  and  carried 
tenderly  to  her  room.  "  It 's  jcs  too  bad  dat  dis 
ycr  Jcswit  priest  should  come  it  so  ober  poor  Miss 
Gertrude.  Pizenin'  her  mind  wid  such  stuff  an' 
nonsense  !  Talk  'bout  de  Virgin  ^lary  !  Jes  as 
if  she  could  hear  all  de  eighty  t'ousand  prayers 
all  ober  de  world  !  Why,  she  wa'  n't  only  de  erfly 
mudder  ob  de  bressed  Lord  Jesus.  Humph ! 
Guess  some  ob  dem  prayers  have  tcr  come  way 
up  froo  de  erf,  t'ousand  an'  t'ousand  ob  miles 
'fore  dey  reach  her  ear.  An'  to  t'ink  Miss  Ger 
trude,  an  edicated  young  leddy  like  her,  can 
beliebe  such  humbug  !  " 

Sambo  increased  his  pace,  taking  long  strides, 
and  swinging  his  arms  excitedly. 

"  Oh  !  poor,  po'or  Miss  Gertrude  !  "  Sambo  con 
tinued.  "  I  jes  wish  I  could  do  somefin'  or  udder 
for  de  sweet  young  missy.  Declar'  ef  it  don't  jos 
break  my  ole  heart  to  see  such  goin's-on.  Suah 


GERTRUDE'S  VISIONS.  441 

as  de  world  Fader  Titns  is  jes  arter  de  money  - 
in  coorse  he  is,  de  wicked,  artful  priest !  Guess 
/  knows  him,  yis  s:ih  !  I  knows  he  cause  all  de 
ghost,  de  noise  an'  all  de  tnibble.  Ef  missus  ud 
jes  frow  out  dat  ar  coachman's  wife,  dat  ar  Mrs. 
Flaherty,  I  reck'n  dis  yer  ghost  business  wud  be 
stopped,  mighty  quick  !  Let  dem  come  an'  see  ef 
dar  be  any  ghosts  a-comin'  to  my  room.  No,  dcy 
das  n't !  I  'd  fro  dem  out  de  window,  1  wud,  so 
dey  ud  tink  de  wicked  one  hisself  was  arter  dern. 
Oh !  poor  Miss  Gertrude  !  Dey  is  treatin'  you 
shameful,  dey  is.  Dis  yere  ghost  an'  de  howlin' 
an'  de  futsteps  is  all  a  sham,  it  is.  It 's  too  berry, 
berry  bad,  it  is.  An  I  '11  jes  go  an  tell  missus 
w'at  I  t'inks  ob  it,  I  will."  And  the  aroused  Sambo 
approached  the  door  of  Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  room. 
"  Oh  !  mamma  !  The  vision  !  I  see  a  cross  ! 
I  see  a  white  veil,  now  a  black  veil !  What  does 
it  mean,  mamma?"  Gertrude,  lying  pale  and 
weak  on  the  sofa,  was  crying  as  Sambo  entered 
the  room.  "  Oh  !  look !  The  Virgin  stretches 
out  her  arms  to  receive  me.  Hark !  I  hear 
sounds  of  celestial  music.  The  heavens  open ! 
I  see  the  pearly  gates  !  Oh,  joy  !  joy  !  mamma  ! 
But,  ah !  The  vision  changes.  Angels  point 
downward  to  a  dark  and  terrible  abyss.  I  see 
forms  writhing  in  awful  misery  !  Oh  !  I  see  my 
brothers  and  my  dear,  dear  father.  They  beckon 


442  TIIK    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

to  me,  beg  and  pray  me  to  release  their  stricken 
spirits,  to  renounce  the  world  and  give  my  soul 
to  God  !  Oh,  mamma  !  I  will !  I  will !  " 

"  Hush  !  child  !  you  are  dreaming,"  said  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve,  laying  her  hand  on  the  fevered 
brow  of  her  daughter. 

"No,  mamma,  it's  real!  There!  The  Holy 
Virgin  beckons,  beckons !  Angels  hover  round 
me.  Hark!  mamma!  Oh!  mamma!  Papa, 
papa  is  culling  for  release  from  torment.  Oh  ! 
mea  culpa!  mea  culpa/  mea  maxima  culpa! 
The  holy  priest  has  left  me  !  Oh,  mamma  !  He 
can  save  us,  save  poor  papa !  Oh !  call  him 
back  !  call  him  back  !  "  And  Gertrude  upstarting, 
fell  back  on  the  bed  insensible. 

"Gertrude!  Gertrude!"  cried  Mrs.  Gilder- 
sleeve,  bending  tenderly  over  her  daughter. 
"  Speak  to  me  !  speak  to  me  !  " 

Gertrude  slowly  opened  her  eyes.  "  The  priest ! 
the  priest ! ''  she  murmured. 

"  Father  Titus  !  I  cannot  let  him  enter  this 
house  again,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  sternly. 

"Oh,  mamma!  do  not  say  so,"  sobbed  Ger 
trude.  "  Oh !  send  for  him  !  send  for  him,  and 
ask  his  forgiveness." 

"No,  I  cannot !  "  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve. 

"Oh,  mamma!  do  not  be  cruel!"  pleaded 
Gertrude,  the  tears  glistening  in  her  fair  blue 


GERTRUDE'S  VISIONS.  443 

eyes.  "Do  not  kill  me,  mamma;  do  not  kill 
me  !  " 

"Listen,  Gertrude,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve, 
determinedly.  "  This  priest  has  selfish  designs. 
His  motives  are  evil.  I  cannot  consent  to  his 
presence  here." 

"Oh,  no,  mamma!"  cried  Gertrude.  "He  is 
not  wicked.  He  is  good,  he  is  good  ;  I  know  he 
is  !  Oh  !  send  for  him  !  Send  for  him  !  " 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  sternly  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  mamma!  mamma!"  implored  Gertrude, 
stretching  out  her  hands  pleadingly.  "  Do  not 
refuse  me  !  Oh  !  do  not  refuse  your  only  child  !  " 
And  Gertrude,  grasping  weakly  at  her  mother's 
hand,  again  fainted. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  proud  spirit  began  to  yield. 
The  sight  of  Gertrude's  anguish  touched  her  heart. 
She  could  withstand  her  daughter's  entreaties  no 
longer. 

O 

"  Gertrude  !  Gertrude  !  "  she  cried.  But  Ger 
trude  answered  never  a  word. 

"  Oh,  woe  !  woe  is  me  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Gilder 
sleeve.  "My  only  child  has  turned  against  me. 
She  will  not  speak  to  me.  Oh,  Gertrude  !  Ger 
trude  !  "  and  the  proud  mother  sank  in  a  chair,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  sobbing  convulsively. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  arose  and  stopped 
to  the  door.  She  directed  that  Father  Titus  be 


444  THE    HAUNTED   HOUSE. 

sent  to  her.  Soon  his  portly  figure  entered  the 
halhvuy,  and  he  approached  the  room  where 
Gertrude  lay. 

"Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  saluting  him 
eoldly,  "my  daughter  is  infatuated  with  you  and 
your  church.  She  lies  sick  and  troubled,  perhaps 
nigh  unto  death.  Therefore,  I  allow  her  wish  to 
see  you.  For  myself,  I  disapprove  of  the  religion 
you  teach."  And  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  swept  from 
the  room,  leaving  the  father  alone  with  Gertrude. 

"  My  daughter  !  "  said  the  priest  in  a  low  voice, 
approaching  her  bedside,  "  how  is  it  with  thee  ?  " 

"Oh,  Father  Titus!  have  you  come?"  cried 
Gertrude,  making  an  effort  to  rise,  a  pleased  look 
on  her  face.  "  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  !  Oh  !  forgive 
poor  mother  !  she  knew  not  what  she  did." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  the  priest  in  solemn  tones, 
"all,  all  depends  on  you.  You  can  save  your 
mother,  redeem  the  spirits  of  your  father  and 
brothers  from  out  the  fearful  depths  of  Purgatory. 
You  and  you  alone  can  do  this.  You  are  the 
Virgin's  choice.  Listen  to  the  voice  of  your 
heart.  Obey  its  promptings.  Renounce  the 
world ;  accept  the  divine  grace  which  the  church 
extends  to  you.  Assume  those  vows  which  shall 
clothe  you  as  with  new  life.  Then  your  prayers 
will  have  weight  with  heaven.  Then  shall  you 
be  the  savior  of  the  souls  of  your  kindred,  your 


GERTRUDE'S  VISIONS.  445 

name  placed  high  on  the  roll  of  the  true 
daughters  of  the  church,  canonized  perchance  as 
a  saint  in  heaven.'" 

"  Oh  !  Holy  Father !  "  murmured  Gertrude  in 
rapture. 

"  Take  the  veil ;  consecrate  your  life  to  the 
church.  Enter  upon  the  blissful  ways  of  the 
cloister,  and  all  will  be  well,"  said  the  priest  in 
fervid  tones.  "  But,"  and  he  frowned  sternly,  "  if 
you  reject  the  Virgin,  denounce  the  church  —  oh  ! 
woe  !  woe  !  woe  !  to  your  unhappy  soul !  "  and 
Father  Titus,  apparently  overcome  at  the  thought, 
shook  with  affected  grief  and  pity. 

"Oh!  Father!  Father!"  implored  Gertrude, 
trembling  at  such  a  fate.  " Renounce  the  church? 
Never!" 

"No,  my  child,  I  have  faith  in  you.  You  are 
pure,  lovely,  good.  You  will  do  as  the  Lord 
wills." 

"I  will !  I  will !"  cried  Gertrude,  fervently. 

"It  is  well.  The  Virgin  smiles  upon  you. 
The  heavens  open  and  record  your  vow.  Oh ! 
my  daughter !  You  shall  shine  as  a  jewel  on  the 
brow  of  your  Redeemer,  and  shall  go  no  more  out 
forever." 

He  bent  down,  touched  his  lips  to  the  pure 
forehead  of  the  young  girl,  and  blessing  her,  took 
his  departure,  promising  to  return  and  see  her  the 
next  day. 


CHAPTER   XXXYIII. 

JERKS    TO    THE    RESCUE.  —  THE    PROUD    MOTHER 
HUMBLED. 

MRS.  GILDERSLEEVE  was  seated  alone  in  her 
sitting-room,  a  prey  to  bitter  thoughts. 

"Plase,  ma'am,"  said  the  servant,  entering,  "a 
man  wants  to  spake  wid  yez.  His  name,  he  sez, 
is  Jerks." 

"Conduct  him  here,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve, 
quickly,  animated  by  a  sudden  premonition  that 
Jerks's  visit  had  some  portentous  signification; 
and  the  next  moment  Jonathan  entered  the  room. 

"How  du  you  du,  ma'am? "said  Jonathan,  as 
he  seated  himself.  "  I  should  n't  intrude  on  you 
at  such  a  distressing  time,  but  I  have  a  very 
important  communication  to  make  to  you." 

"  It  is  no  intrusion,  Mr.  Jerks,"  said  the  lady, 
kindly,  and  with  a  faint  smile.  "I  remembered 
your  name  at  once.  You  accompanied  my  family 
on  our  European  trip  last  year,  I  believe.  You 
—  you  took  a  very  kind  interest  in  my  daughter, 
if  I  mistake  not,  during  the  voyage  over?  " 

"Wai,    yes,    Mrs.    Gildersleeve,"   said   Jerks, 


THE    PROUD    MOTHER    IIUMISLKD.  147 

nervously  fingering  the  rim  of  his  hat,  his  manner 
indicating  some  unusual  indecision.  "I  did  and 
do  take  considerable  interest  in  Miss  Gertrude, 
if  you  will  pardon  me  for  sayin'  so ;  particularly 
now  that  —  " 

And  here  Jerks  hesitated,  and  became  so  embar 
rassed  that  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  came  to  his  rescue. 

"You  refer  to  the  —  the  calamities  which  have 
overtaken  my  family  of  late,  do  you  not?" 

She  tried  to  speak  the  words  steadily,  but  she 
was  unable  to  control  a  certain  huskiness  of  voice  ; 
and  in  spite  of  the  long  habit  of  concealing  her 
emotions,  she  could  not  prevent  the  muscles  of 
her  face  from  twitching  convulsively. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Jerks,  observing  these 
tokens,  and  pitying  the  proud  but  stricken  woman 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  "  I  was  thinkin'  of 
all  your  troubles,  but  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  of 
'em  quite  so  bluntly.  I  forgot,  for  the  moment, 
that  I  was  comparatively  a  stranger  to  you." 

"And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  gently,  "I 
cannot  look  upon  you  entirely  as  such,  Mr.  Jerks. 
My  husband  was  accustomed  to  speak  of  you  in 
very  high  terms.  I  shall  never  forget  that  he 
told  me  how  you  earnestly  cautioned  him  about 
my  unfortunate  son.  I  confess  that  at  the  time  I 
looked  upon  your  kindness  in  a  very  different 
licrht  from  what  I  have  done  since.  Oh!" — she 


448  JEIJKS    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

continued  with  an  involuntary  burst  of  emotion 
that  was  beyond  all  powers  of  control,  —  "  oh  !  if 
we  had  but  listened  to  your  well-meant  advice  ! 
Oh !  if  we  had  but  heeded  and  read  aright  those 
signs  which  were  meant  to  warn  us  that  our  only 
boy  was  drifting  out  into  a  dangerous  sea  whose 
shores  are  forever  strewn  with  youthful  wreck  and 
disaster  !  Oh  !  if  our  eyes  had  only  been  opened 
to  this  awful  peril,  he  might  have  been  saved  ! 
He  might  have  been  an  honorable,  an  upright  and 
worthy  man,  the  staff  and  support  of  my  declining 
years.  Instead  of  which,  behold  me  a  broken 
hearted  woman,  aged  before  my  time,  bereft  in 
one  year,  in  one  short  year,  of  husband  and  chil 
dren,  —  hopeless,  miserable,  wretched,  oh !  so 
utterly,  so  utterly  wretched  !  " 

Ah  !  it  was  pitiful  to  see  this  woman,  once  so 
cold,  so  proud,  so  thoroughly  self-contained,  in 
whose  bosom  the  voice  of  nature  had  been  stifled 
for  so  long  that  she  seemed  to  be  devoid  of  every 
softening  and  humanizing  feeling.  Ah !  it  was 
pitiful  to  see  her  thus,  in  an  unguarded  moment, 
abandon  herself  to  the  ivild  excesses  of  a  grief 
and  sorrow  in  which  dwelt  no  gleam  of  hope,  no 
spark  of  comfort ! 

Jonathan's  heart  bled  for  the  stricken  woman. 
He  tried  to  offer  her  some  consolation. 

"At  least,  Mrs.   Gildersleeve,"  he    said,  "you 


THE  PROUD  MOTHER  HUMBLED.       449 

have  still  a  daughter,  upon  whose  love  and  devo 
tion  I  am  sure  you  may  rely." 

These  words,  instead  of  assuaging,  seemed 
only  to  increase  her  anguish.  She  wrung  her 
hands  wildly  as  she  cried,  — 

"  Xo  !  not  even  that  drop  of  comfort  is  left  me  ! 
My  daughter  —  my  Gertrude,  the  one  object  on 
earth  upon  whom  I  have  lavished  the  affection  of 
my  whole  heart  —  my  pride,  my  glory,  my  idol 
—  yes,  whom  I  have  worshipped  blindly  as  the 
heathen  worships  his  god,  —  my  Gertrude  turns 
against  me,  forsakes  me  ;  cuts  asunder  the  dear 
est  tie  that  might  yet  reconcile  me  to  my  lonely 
lot!  Yes,  my  daughter  shrinks  from  me  —  me, 
her  mother  —  to  embrace  a  delusion,  a  religion 
which  assumes  to  supply  the  place  of  all  worldly 
interests  and  every  natural  tie  of  affection.'' 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Jerks,  in  sorrowful  sur 
prise.  "  Has  Miss  Gertrude  gone  so  far  as  actu 
ally  to  have  taken  the  veil?" 

"You  have  heard,  then,  of  her  intention?  Xo. 
She  has  not  yet  consummated  her  mistaken  pur 
pose,  but  she  has  gone  so  far  that  retreat  is  now 
impossible;  and  I, — oh!  heavenly  Father!  —  I, 
I,  her  mother,  was  powerless  to  prevent  the 
step  !  " 

"Take  hope,  then,  ma'am!"  cried  Jonathan,  in 
electric  tones,  and  springing  to  his  feet,  while 
29 


450  JERKS    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  saddened  countenance  light 
ened  up  and  she  leaned  forward  with  a  look  of 
breathless  expectation.  "  I  came  here  to  reveal 
to  you  a  matter  that  I  hope  and  believe  will  save 
your  daughter ;  emancipate  her  from  a  slavery 
both  of  soul  and  body,  that  her  pure  nature 
would  shrink  from  as  from  the  deadliest  conta 
gion,  if  she  but  knew  the  half  of  what  it  requires 
and  exacts." 

And  in  hurried  words  Jerks  related  to  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve  the  story  of  Rose  Delaney  which  he 
had  heard  from  her  husband's  lips  ;  showed  her 
that  this  same  priest,  whose  casuistry,  zeal,  and 
pertinacity  had  so  wrought  upon  the  wavering 
and  disturbed  religious  convictions  of  Gertrude, 
that  she  had  at  length  not  only  adopted  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion  as  her  own,  but  had  come  to 
regard  Father  Titus  as  a  veritable  saint  upon 
earth,  good,  pure,  holy  as  the  apostles  themselves. 
Jonathan  thus  exhibited  the  priest  in  all  his  moral 
hideousness  and  deformity.  As  he  concluded, 
Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  trembling  at  the  danger  to 
which  her  daughter  had  been  subjected,  yet 
relieved  as  she  thought  of  Gertrude's  innate 
purity  and  delicacy  which  she  felt  were  sufficient 
to  guard  her  from  that  danger,  hastily  rose  to  her 
feet  and  came  toward  Jerks. 

"  Where  is  this  girl  Rose?  "  she  asked. 


THE  PROUD  MOTHER  HUMBLED.       451 

"  Will  you  see  her?  "  asked  Jerks.  "  Will  you 
listen  to  the  story  from  her  own  lips?  Will  you, 
further  than  this,  permit  this  repentant  woman  to 
see  your  daughter,  and  perhaps  move  her  to 
renounce  her  intention  of  entering  a  convent?" 

Once  towering  like  the  mountain  oak,  now 
bending  like  the  willow,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  seemed 
as  if  she  were  about  to  prostrate  herself  at  Jona 
than's  feet,  humbling  herself  as  she  had  never 
done  before,  even  to  her  Maker;  but  instead  of 
yielding  to  the  impulse,  she  seized  both  his  hands, 
while  the  tears  streamed  from  eyes  that  had  rarely 
known  such  tender  suffusion,  as  she  murmured 
brokenly,  — 

"  Oh  !  You  have  given  me  new  hope,  new  life  ! 
May  God  forever  bless  vou  for  brin<rin£  this  com- 

«/  v  O         O 

fort  to  a  broken,  despairing  heart !  Thanks  to 
you,  my  daughter,  my  idolized  Gertrude  is  saved  ! 
I  feel  it,  know  it !  But  where  is  this  girl  Rose? 
Oh  !  bring  her  to  me  at  once.  In  mercy's  name, 
let  there  not  be  another  moment's  delay  !  " 

And  almost  frantic  with  mingled  joy  and  fear, 
Mrs.  Gildersleeve  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  urged 
Jonathan  toward  the  door.  But  the  latter  had 
not  yet  accomplished  his  entire  object. 

"I  have  not  yet  told  you  all,  Mrs.  Gilder 
sleeve,"  he  said,  pausing  at  the  door. 

She  looked  inquiringly  at  him. 


452  JERKS    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

"  Rose  Delaney  is  not  far  away,  and  ready  to 
second  our  efforts  whenever  she  is  summoned  to 
do  so,"  Jerks  continued.  "  Let  your  mind  be  at 
rest  on  that  point,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve." 

'"But  why  delay,  then,  to  bring  her  here?" 
demanded  the  lady,  anxiously.  "  Oh  !  hasten  at 
once,  dear  Mr.  Jerks.  Every  moment  is  precious. 
Even  now  this  priest  may  call  and  demand  to  see 
my  daughter.  Oh  !  remember  she  is  all  that  is 
left  to  me  on  earth  !  " 

'r  Xot  so,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  She  is  not  the 
only  one  that  claims  your  affection  and  duty," 
said  Jerks. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"I  mean  that  there  is  one,  cruelly,  foully 
wronged,  yet  pure  and  innocent  as  an  angel,  who 
has  asked  me  to  intercede  with  you  in  her  behalf. 
One  who  once  came  to  you,  expecting  womanly 
sympathy  and  womanly  aid,  but  whom  you,  in 
your  day  of  pride,  drove  from  your  door  with 
insult  and  reproach.  One  who  now,  in  your  day 
of  sorrow,  yearns  to  love  and  bless  you  and  yield 
you  the  duty  of  a  true  and  faithful  child  !  " 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  looked  upon  him  like  one 
mystified,  yet  a  glimpse  of  the  truth  slowly  dawned 
on  her  mind,  as  she  said, — 

"  Speak  plainly.    I  know  not  to  what  you  refer." 

"I  refer  to  your  dead  son's  wife  I"  said  Jerks, 
slowly. 


THE  PROUD  MOTHER  HUMBLED.      453 

"My  son's  —  Frank's  —  wife?"  she  repeated. 
"  He  had  no  wife.  Frank  Gildersleeve  was  never 
married  ! " 

"  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,"  said  Jerks,  solemnly, 
''Minnie  Marston  was  as  truly  and  legally  your 
soil's  wife,  and  is  as  truly  and  legally  your  son's 
widow,  as  that  I  am  standing  here  at  this  moment." 

"  Oh,  may  heaven  forgive  me,  then,  for  the  wrong 
I  unconsciously  have  done  her,"  said  Mrs.  Gilder 
sleeve.  "Oh!  believe  me,  sir,  my  conscience 
has  sorely  tortured  me  for  my  harshness  to  that 
poor  girl.  Her  sweet  face  has  been  in  my  mind 
oftener  than  I  could  tell.  But  I  thought  I  was 
doing  right  when  I  treated  her  so.  I  believed  she 
was  an  impostor,  seeking  to  trade  on  some  hold 
which  she  had  obtained  over  my  reckless  son. 
But  are  you  sure  of  what  you  say,  Mr.  Jerks?" 

"  I  have  seen  the  certificate  of  her  marriage  to 
your  son  properly  recorded,"  said  Jerks.  "It  was 
providentially  recovered  and  sent  to  her  by  a 
friend  of  your  son's,  Dr.  Richard  Forceps,  to 
whom,  I  am  afraid,  Frank  Gildersleeve  owed 
more  of  his  evil  ways  than  will  ever  be  known.  I 
know  not  his  motive.  Perhaps  even  in  his  evil 
heart  may  exist  some  touch  of  humanity,  and  in 
some  penitent  mood  he  perhaps  was  moved  to  do 
this  act  of  justice." 

For  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  did  not 


454  JERKS    TO   THE   RESCUE. 

speak.  What  was  passing  in  that  heart,  still 
perhaps  not  wholly  devoid  of  the  worldly  pride 
which  had  caused  so  much  misery  to  herself  and 
to  others,  may  never  be  known.  Evidently  she 
was  undergoing  some  severe  mental  combat.  At 
last  she  said,  gently, — 

"I  would  like  to  see  my  daughter,  Mr.  Jerks, 
—  my  poor  son's  wife.  I  would  like  to  fall  on 
my  knees  and  beg  her  to  forgive  me,  to  forgive 
him,  and  suffer  me  to  take  her  to  my  heart  !  " 

"And  let  us  hope,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,"  said 
Jerks,  kindly,  "that  God,  who  has  stricken  you, 
may  now  bless  you  with  a  new  affection,  another 
daughter  to  love  and  honor  you." 

And  so  saying,  Jonathan  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

GERTRUDE'S  INFATUATION.  —  A  CONVENT  OR  THE 
TOMB. 

GERTRUDE  GILDERSLEEVE  lying  upon  her  couch, 
her  eyes  closed,  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  bosom, 
a  smile  of  angelic  peace  and  tranquillity  on  her 
youthful  countenance,  —  such  was  the  scene  that 
was  presented  to  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  as  she  hastily 
entered  her  daughter's  apartment. 

Her  eagerness  received  a  sudden  check  as  she 
beheld  Gertrude.  The  rigidity  of  the  young 
girl's  limbs,  the  waxen  pallor  of  her  face,  the 
folded  hands,  the  closed  eyelids,  altogether  looked 
so  fearfully  suggestive  of  death,  that  the  fright 
ened  mother  paused  for  an  instant,  and  then 
involuntarily  uttered  a  startled  cry  as  she  flew 
to  the  bedside. 

"  Gertrude  !  Gertrude  !  "  she  exclaimed,  shak 
ing  her  daughter's  arm,  in  great  agitation. 

Gertrude  opened  her  eyes,  but  seeing  her 
mother  bending  so  anxiously  over  her,  extended 
her  arms  and  gently  wound  them  about  the  hitter's 
neck. 


456  GERTRUDE'S  INFATUATION. 

'r  What  is  it,  dear  mamma  ?"  she  asked.  "  Why 
did  you  cry  out  in  that  manner?  " 

"  Oh  !  You  frightened  me  almost  to  death,  my 
child.  I  thought  —  I  thought  something  ailed 
you." 

"  Oh,  on  the  contrary,  mamma,  I  never  was  so 
well  and  so  happy  in  my  life." 

And  Gertrude,  as  if  to  convince  her  parent 
how  strong  she  felt,  slowly  arose  from  the  couch. 
She  was  more  feeble  than  she  was  willing  to 
admit.  The  scenes  she  had  so  recently  passed 
through  had  greatly  told  upon  her  delicate  frame. 
But  this  she  did  not  wish  her  mother  to  perceive. 

"  You  gave  me  such  a  shock,  Gertrude,"  said 
Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "  But  I  am  strangely  un 
nerved  to-day.  The  least  thing  completely  upsets 
me.  I  think  we  both  need  a  change  of  scene. 
This  house,  the  surroundings  and  associations,  are 
too  full  of  painful  reminiscences.  What  do  you 
say,  my  child,  to  spending  a  few  weeks  at  Sara 
toga  or  Newport  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  watched  her  daughter  nar 
rowly  while  she  said  this. 

Gertrude  did  not  reply  at  once.  She  was 
reflecting  how  she  could  decline  her  mother's 
suggestion  and  explain  the  reason  of  her  declina 
tion,  without  giving  her  too  much  pain.  At 
length  she  said,  again  winding  her  arms  around 


A    CONVENT    OR    THE     I  OMB.  457 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  neck  and  nestling  closely  to 
her,  — 

"  Dear  mamma,  it  grieves  me  to  disobey  yon  in 
anything ;  it  wrings  my  heart  to  have  a  wish  that 
is  opposed  to  any  wish  of  yours.  I  have  always 
tried  to  be  a  dutiful  and  affectionate  daughter, 
have  I  not?" 

"Certainly  yon  have,  my  dearest.  But  what 
does  this  dreadful  prelude  portend?"  asked  Mrs. 
(iildersleeve,  well  prepared,  however,  for  what  was 
coming,  and  ready  with  what  she  believed  would 
prove  a  cure  for  her  daughter's  infatuation  when 
the  time  should  arrive  for  her  to  apply  it. 

"Oh  ! "  said  Gertrude,  "I  am  so  sorry,  so  very, 
very  sorry  to  give  you  pain,  dear  mamma,  but  I 
fear  I  must  do  so.  I  — I  am  going  to  leave  you, 
mamma  !  " 

"Leave  me,  Gertrude?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gil- 
dersleeve.  "Leave  your  mother,  who  without 
you  will  have  no  soul  to  cling  to,  no  one  on  earth 
to  love  and  cherish?" 

The  pathos  of  these  words  went  straight  to  the 
young  girl's  heart,  but  they  had  no  e fleet  on  her 
settled  purpose.  Father  Titus  had  fortified  her 
resolution  to  such  a  degree,  that  she  believed  that 
nothing  short  of  death  would  have  power  to  make 
that  resolution  waver. 

"Oh,    dear    mamma,"    Gertrude    tearfully    an- 


458  GKKTRUDE'S  INFATUATION. 

svvcred,  "  do  yon  think  the  parting  will  not  be 
bitter  to  me?  You  :>re  all  that  I,  too,  have  left  to 
love  !  But  I  have  consecrated  myself  to  a  higher 
duty  than  even  that  I  owe  to  you,  my  mother.  I 
have  given  my  heart,  my  life,  my  all  to  the  service 
of  One  Avho  will  approve  my  sacrifice,  and  teach 
me  how  infinitely  sweeter  are  the  joys  and  bless 
ings  of  a  life  devoted  to  Him,  than  the  uncertain 
ties  of  earthly  hopes  and  the  ties  of  earthly  affec 
tions  can  ever  be  !  " 

"You  mean,  Gertrude,  that  you  have  yielded 
to  the  solicitations  of  Father  Titus?  That  you 
have  consented  to  leave  your  home,  your  mother, 
and  enter  a  convent  ?  " 

Gertrude  bowed  her  head. 

"I  blame  myself,  Gertrude,"  Mrs.  Gildersleeve 
continued,  "I  deeply  blame  myself  for  ever  having 
permitted  you  to  enter  a  Roman  Catholic  school, 
and  that  I  have  allowed  this  priest  to  visit  my 
house.  But  regrets  are  now  unavailing.  The 
past  cannot  bo  recalled.  What  remains  for  me  to 
do  is  to  perform  my  duty,  to  exert  my  authority. 
Do  you  think  I  will  weakly  yield  to  this  infatua 
tion?  That  I  will  permit  my  only  child,  my 
dearest,  my  best  beloved,  all  that  God  has  left 
me,  to  be  torn  from  my  side,  to  be  shut  up  in  a 
cloister,  and  make  no  protest,  no  effort  to  prevent 
it?  Oh!  you  mistake  your  mother,  Gertrude 
Gildersleeve,  if  you  think  so  for  one  moment !  " 


A    CONVENT    Oil    THE    TOMB.  459 

"  Oh,  mamma,  do  not  compel  me  to  be  diso 
bedient  !  "  Gertrude  pleaded.  "If  I  had  a  doubt, 
if  I  could  believe  that  it  was  possible  for  me  to  be 
mistaken  in  my  choice,  I  would  not,  for  worlds, 
persist  in  it.  I  know  I  am  yielding  by  nature  ;  I 
have  never  before  combated  your  will ;  you  justly 
believe  that  it  will  only  be  necessary  for  you  to 
command  in  this  as  in  other  matters,  and  that  I 
will  obey.  But  oh  !  dearest  mamma,  it  is  not  now 
a  question  of  filial  regard  or  duty.  It  is  a  question 
bct\veen  earth  and  heaven  !  A  question  affecting 
my  heavenly  salvation,  and  yours,  and  my  dear 
father's  and  brothers' !  Oh  !  mamma  !  I  am  con 
vinced  that  I  am  called  to  perform  this  sacrifice 
by  a  voice  which  I  would  not,  could  not,  dare  not 
disobey  !  " 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve  made  a  gesture  of  impatience, 
almost  of  despair. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "who  would  credit  it  if  it 
were  told,  that  my  daughter  could  so  weakly,  so 
foolishly  be  duped  by  such  false  and  ridiculous 
notions  as  these!  It  is  too  absurd!  —  past  all 
belief !  How  can  any  one  in  their  right  senses, 
brought  up  in  this  age  of  enlightenment,  pin  their 
faith  upon  a  superstition  so  rank,  so  gross, 
so  debasing,  so  utterly  opposed  to  the  plainest 
teachings  of  common-sense  !  Oh  !  this  priest,  this 
wicked,  wicked  priest!  Stealing  into  my  house 


460  GERTRUDE'S  INFATUATION. 

like  a  thief  in  the  night,  to  rob  me  of  the  most 
precious  of  all  my  treasures!  But  he  shall  not 
triumph  I w  she  cried  energetically,  and  starting 
up  with  the  grandeur  of  an  avenging  Judith  or  an 
outraged  Leah.  "  Xo  !  I  will  fight  craft  with 
craft !  Oppose  cunning  to  cunning,  /force  to 
force  !  And,  if  all  else  fail,  as  a  last  resort  I  will 
appeal  to  the  law  !  " 

"  Mamma,"  said  Gertrude,  gently  but  firmly, 
"  no  threats  will  terrify  me  from  following  out 
the  dictates  of  my  conscience.  All  you  have 
said,  though  it  grieves  me  sorely,  will  not  avail  to 
move  me." 

"  But  it  shall  avail !  "  cried  the  excited  mother, 
"You  are  but  a  child,  not  yet  of  age,  and  the  law 
will  protect  me  in  enforcing  your  obedience." 

"Very  well,  mamma,"  said  Gertrude,  still  firm, 
though  very  pale.  "You  can  at  the  most  only 
delay,  but  not  prevent  my  purpose.  My  religion 
teaches  patience.  I  shall  soon  be  of  age  !  " 

"Oh!"  cried  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  almost  driven 
wild  by  this  calm,  immovable  opposition  on  the 
part  of  her  usually  docile  child,  impotently  wring 
ing  her  hands  as  she  paced  distractedly  to  and 
fro.  "  Oh  !  can  it  be  that  this  bold,  bad  man  has 
gained  such  an  ascendancy  over  my  child  !  " 

"  Please,  dear  mamma,"  said  Gertrude,  greatly 
shocked,  and  'flushing  painfully,  —  "please  do  not 


A    CONVENT    Oil    THE    TOMB.  461 

speak  so  unkindly  'of  the  good,  the  holy,  the 
noble  man  whom  I  honor  and  revere  above  all 
mankind." 

"  Silly  child  !     You  little  know  this  priest." 

Gertrude  smiled,  confidently,  trustfully. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  tr  my  faith  in  God,  in  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  in  the  holy  Church,  is  not  tinner 
than  is  my  faith  and  trust  in  the  good  Father  Titus  ! " 

"But  if  I  could  prove  to  you,  Gertrude,  that 
this  same  man  was  one  of  the  vilest,  most  despi 
cable  of  God's  creatures,  a  shame  and  a  scandal 
to  God's  ministry,  a  hypocrite,  a  liar,  a  bast; 
schemer,  an  unscrupulous  wretch,  who,  if  he  had 
his  just  deserts,  would  be  held  up  to  the  scorn  and 
execration  of  society,  and  only  suffered  to  exist 
behind  the  stone  walls  and  iron  bars  of  a  prison, 
what  then  would  you  say  ?  " 

Gertrude  had  slowly  arisen  at  these  words, 
poured  out  with  all  the  vehement  force  of  one 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  truth  of  what  she 
asseverated.  The  young  girl  was  as  pallid  as 
marble,  her  limbs  trembled,  a  chill  like  that  of 
death  darted  through  her  veins,  her  soft  eyes 
sought  her  mother's  with  a  glance  frozen  as  if 
with  horror,  and  she  raised  one  hand  with  an 
imploring  gesture.  She  made  one  or  two  inef 
fectual  efforts  to  speak.  At  last  the  words  came, 
low  and  feeble,  and  with  a  shuddering  gasp,  — 


402  GERTRUDE'S  INFATUATION. 

"It  would  —  it  would  kill  me,  mother,  to 
believe  what  you  say  !  " 

"  Kather,"  eried  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  overjoyed 
at  this  unexpected  effect,  and  seeing  in  it  only  an 
indication  of  hope, — "rather  it  would  give  you 
life,  my  child,  disabuse  your  mind  of  a  gross  and 
fatal  error,  and  restore  you  once  more  to  my  deso 
late  heart,  my  loving  arms  !  Remain  here,  Ger 
trude.  I  will  return  in  a  moment." 

Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  without  a  word  in  explana 
tion,  hastened  from  the  room.  Gertrude  never 
stirred  from  the  spot  where  she  stood,  but  with 
eyes  fixed  with  a  dread  expectation  on  the  door 
through  which  her  mother  had  passed,  motionless, 
silently  awaited  her  return.  The  minutes  flew 
by,  but  still  Gertrude  never  moved,  as  if  tlu  bare 
suggestion  of  her  mother's  words  had  struck  her 
to  stone.  Save  for  that  terrible  look  of  mute 
anticipation,  and  the  repressed  heaving  of  her 
bosom,  she  might  indeed  have  been  taken  for  a 
marble  statue. 

At  length  the  door  again  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Gildersleeve,  accompanied  by  a  woman,  closely 
veiled,  entered  the  room. 

"My  dear  Gertrude,"  she  said,  tenderly,  "I 
would  willingly  spare  you  a  rude  shock,  if  I  knew 
any  better  or  surer  method  of  arousing  you  from 
your  delusion.  This  young  woman,  a  convert 


A    CONVENT    OR    THE    TOMB.  463 

like  yourself  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  has  come 
here  out  of  the  kindest  and  friendliest  motives. 
You  have  never  seen  her  before,  but  she  has 
heard  much  of  you,  and  is  most  anxious  to  do 
you  a  service  for  Avhich  I  am  sure  you  will  live  to 
thank  and  bless  her." 

She  motioned  to  the  new-comer,  who  at  once 
drew  nearer  and  removed  her  veil,  disclosing  the 
pretty,  but  now  deeply  saddened  countenance  of 
Rose  Delaney. 

Gertrude  gazed  at  Rose  with  a  look  of  pained 
apprehension  ;  then,  as  a  sudden  suspicion  flashed 
upon  her  mind,  she  turned  to  her  mother,  quickly, 
and  said,  — 

''Mamma,  who  is  this  woman?  Surely,  you 
would  not  stoop  to  a  cruel  deceit  —  " 

But  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  intuitively  comprehended 
what  Gertrude  meant,  and  answered  before  she 
could  mush  the  sentence. 

".No,  my  child.  I  am  convinced  of  Mrs. 
Delauev's  truth,  and  when  I  tell  you  that  your 
old  friend,  Mr.  Jerks,  will  also  vouch  for  it, 
I  think  you  will  no  longer  injure  me  by  an  unjust 
suspicion.  Mrs.  Dclaney's  story  is  a  very  sorrow 
ful  and  a  very  painful  one.  But  I  beg  that  you  will 
patiently  listen  to  what  she  has  come  so  far  to 
relate  to  you." 

Gertrude  made  a  step  forward,  and  laid  her 
hand  beseechingly  upon  her  mother's  arm. 


464         GERTRUDE'S  INFATUATION. 

"  Dear  mamma,"  she  faltered,  with  a  look  of 
piteous  entreaty,  "  do  not  subject  me  to  this  trial. 
Please  send  this  woman  away.  I  do  not  doubt 
that  she  means  me  well.  But  I  have  no  desire  to 
listen  to  any  story.  It  would  make  no  difference 
what  she  said.  I  —  I  am  not  feeling  very  well, 
dear  mamma." 

"  T>ut,  Gertrude  —  " 

"Nay,  then,"  cried  the  young  girl,  roused  to 
sudden  frenzy  by  her  secret  apprehensions,  "I 
will  not  listen  to  her  !  Go  away  !  Go  away  this 
instant !  "  she  added,  almost  fiercely  turning  upon 
the  shrinking  Rose.  But  the  next  instant,  sur 
prised  and  ashamed  at  herself  for  an  exhibition  of 
passion  so  utterly  foreign  to  her  gentle  manner, 
she  threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms  and  burst 
into  tears. 

At  the  sight  of  Gertrude's  distress  both  Mrs. 
Gilderslecve  and  Rose  Delancy  were  stricken  with 
feelings  of  remorse. 

"Had  we  not  better  defer  this  unpleasant  matter 
for  ;mother  occasion,  madam?"  said  Rose. 

But  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  shook  her  head  decidedly. 

"  My  daughter  will  be  calmer  in  a  moment," 
she  said.  "  Come,  Gertrude,  my  dear  child,  com 
pose  yourself.  Sit  down  here  beside  me  "  —  and 
she  led  her  to  a  lounge — "and  listen  to  Mrs. 
Dclaney.  I  promise  you  that  you  cannot  fail  to  bo 
<!(  c}>ly  interested  in  what  she  has  to  say." 


A    CONVENT    OR    THE    TOMB.  465 

Gertrude's  mood  had  changed.  Until  Father 
Titus  began  to  plant  the  seed  of  his  pernicious 
influence  in  her  heart,  she  had  been  docile  and 
obedient  to  the  slightest  wish  or  desire  expressed 
by  her  mother.  Now,  once  more,  she  yielded  to 
her  mother's  commands,  and  faintly  signed  for 
.Rose  Delaney  to  proceed  Avith  her  tale. 

There  is  no  need  to  rehearse  that  sad  and  sinful 
experience.  The  reader  is  already  familiar  with 
the  true  character  of  Father  Titus.  The  delicate 
mind  of  Gertrude  was  shocked  by  the  recital,  and 
at  first  she  could  only  utter  broken  ejaculations  of 
horror  and  disbelief.  Father  Titus  such  a  mon 
ster  as  this  woman  depicted?  No!  She  would 
not,  could  not  entertain  the  thought !  It  was  all  a 
piece  of  deception,  a  conspiracy,  hatched  up  to 
throw  discredit  on  a  good  and  holy  man ;  a 
wicked,  cruel  conspiracy,  devised  as  a  means  to 
make  her  revolt  from  a  religion  that  could  harbor 
and  exalt  to  one  of  its  highest  offices,  one  so 
wicked,  so  shameless,  so  utterly  vile  and  worthless  ! 

But  as  Rose  went  on,  as  she  unveiled  and 
exposed  circumstantially  the  nameless  details  of 
her  connection  with  the  priest,  investing  her 
recital  with  an  unmistakable  air  of  truth,  Ger 
trude  slowly, — and  oh!  with  such  unutterable 
<rrief  and  despair  !  —  was  forced  to  realize  that  he 
\vhom  her  imagination  had  raised  to  a  plane  with 
30 


466  GERTRUDE'S  INFATUATION. 

UK;  holiest  of  the  holy,  with  the  noblest  and  wor 
thiest  that  had  lived  on  earth,  who  had  made  good 
deeds,  pure  life,  and  unquestioning  faith  stepping- 
stones  to  the  most  exalted  places  on  high,  was 
but  an  image  of  clay, — one  of  the  lowest,  the 
vilest  of  earthly  beings  ! 

Slowly,  reluctantly,  resisting  to  the  last,  did 
this  conviction  force  itself  upon  her,  and  then 
with  a  wail,  that  was  prolonged  into  a  startling 
shriek,  she  sprang  up  and  then  as  suddenly  sunk 
upon  her  mother's  breast,  completely  senseless. 

Days  and  weeks  went  by,  but  Gertrude  Gilder- 
sleeve,  despite  the  constant  attendance  of  skilled 
physicians,  never  awoke  to  sense  and  reason. 
She  lingered  for  a  while,  but  with  the  withering 
of  the  summer  roses  her  pure  and  gentle  soul 
took  its  flight,  leaving  her  mother  heart  broken 
and  desolate,  —  now  alas  !  indeed  childless. 

But  not  destined  to  be  childless  for  long ! 
The  mysterious  providence  of  God,  which  per 
chance  as  a  just  punishment  had  deprived  her  of 
every  member  of  a  once  promising  family,  had  at 
last  raised  her  up  from  the  dark  pit  of  despair, 
given  to  her  hungering  heart  a  new  affection, 
assuaged  her  sorrow  by  the  love  of  one  whom  she 
had  once  cast  off,  but  now  thankfully,  gratefull}' 
received  into  her  arms  and  her  home, — the 
wronged  but  forgiving  wife  of  her  son  Frank,  — 
Minnie  Marston.  And  thus  we  leave  them. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

LAST    NIGHT    ALIVE. — FATHER    TITUS'S  TRAGIC   END! 

FATHER  TITUS,  with  his  spies  in  the  Gilder- 
sleeve  household,  was  promptly  informed  of  the 
events  that  had  happened  at  the  country  seat. 
Closely  following  upon  his  interview  with  Ger 
trude  in  the  coachman's  house,  a  woman,  dressed 
in  deep  black  and  veiled,  had  held  a  protracted 
interview  with  the  young  girl,  the  result  of  which 
had  thrown  the  Gildersleeve  household  into  a 
state  of  dismay  and  consternation  ;  for  during  the 
conference  Gertrude  had  been  suddenly  stricken 
down,  and  the  physicians  pronounced  her  recov 
ery  hopeless.  Such  was  the  report  that  Father 
Titus  had  received. 

The  priest  had  returned  to  Boston  and  was 
indulging  in  his  usual  evening  occupations  ;  that 
is  to  say,  he  had  assumed  his  comfortable  dress 
ing-gown  and  embroidered  slippers,  had  put  on 
his  tassel  led  smoking-cap,  and,  seated  in  his 
stuffed  easy-chair,  with  a  fragrant  llavanna  in  his 
mouth,  a  decanter  of  brandy  handy  at  his  elbow, 


408  LAST   NIGHT   ALIVE. 

was  preparing  to  enjoy  the  earned  repose  of  a  day 
spent  in  active  labors. 

A  complacent  smile  rested  on  the  priest's  coun 
tenance.  He  felt  all  that  calm  contentment  of  a 
man  who  sees  plan  after  plan,  scheme  after 
scheme,  ripening  to  a  sure  fruition,  and  from  the 
habit  of  continued  success,  not  once  taking  into 
account  the  hazards  of  sudden  blight  or  nipping 
frost  withering  his  buds  of  promise. 

Already  in  his  mind's  eye  he  beheld  his  pet 
project  rapidly  approaching  the  desired  end. 
Gertrude  Gildersleeve,  the  presumptive  heir  to 
a  vast  property,  with  only  her  mother's  life-dower 
between  her  and  its  absolute  possession,  was  com 
pletely  and  inextricably  under  his  influence. 

Now,  all  that  remained  was  to  precipitate  Ger 
trude  into  taking  the  final  step ;  to  throw  herself 
into  the  ever-extended  arms  of  the  church,  and 
consecrate  herself  by  an  irrevocable  act  to  its 
service  forever. 

That  act  would  compel  the  renunciation  of  all 
worldly  wealth,  and  likewise  include  its  endow 
ment  to  the  church.  Not  for  an  instant  did 
Father  Titus  entertain  a  doubt  of  this  happy  con 
summation.  His  last  interview  with  Gertrude 
had  swept  away  every  fear,  every  anxiety. 

Such  was  his  frame  of  mind  when  his  servant 
Patrick  came  into  the  room  bearing  a  letter.  The 


FATHER  TITUS'S  TRAGIC  END.  469 

handwriting  at  once  told  him  that  it  was  from  his 
trusted  tool.  He  tore  the  letter  open.  The  com 
placent  smile  faded  from  his  lips.  His  smooth 
brow  became  wrinkled  and  corrugated.  The  firm 
hand  which  held  the  paper  shook  as  if  with  sudden 
palsy.  He  dashed  the  letter  upon  the  floor,  pas 
sionately  stamped  upon  it,  then  again  picked  it 
up,  smoothed  it  out,  and  once  more  read  its 
contents. 

No ;  there  was  no  mistake !  It  was  not  so 
much  what  the  missive  contained  as  what  it  failed 
to  convey,  that  struck  him  a  blow  that  was  almost 
mortal.  He  read  between  the  lines,  and  saw  at 
once  the  proud  fabric  he  had  so  laboriously,  so 
cunningly  constructed,  come  tumbling  to  the 
ground ! 

And  worse !  Who  was  this  mysterious  veiled 
woman,  spoken  of  by  the  writer  of  that  fatal 
letter?  This  woman  who  had  imparted  to  Ger 
trude  Gildersleeve  some  secret  knowledge  which 
his  spy  had  been  unable  to  learn?  And  what  the 
nature  of  that  communication  ?  What  direful  tale, 
what  hideous  revelation  had  been  poured  into  his 
convert's  ear,  that  should  have  such  a  withering, 
blasting  effect? 

His  guilty  fears  suggested  a  terrible  suspicion. 
He  had  seen  less  of  the  Delaneys  of  late.  Hose 
no  longer  came  to  confession.  The  mysterious 


470  LAST   NIGHT   ALIVE. 

woman  who  had  sought  Gertrude  Gildersleeve 
must  have  been  Rose  Delaney  !  He  did  not  try 
to  comprehend  the  motive ;  he  cared  nothing  for 
it ;  it  was  sufficient  to  know  the  appalling  fact 
1hnt  Rose  had  gone  to  Gertrude  with  the  story  of 
her  shame  and  of  his  infamous  guilt ! 

All  the  terrible  consequences  of  exposure  stared 
him  in  the  face.  He  even  forgot  the  blow  to  his 
ambition,  the  loss  of  Gertrude's  heritage,  in  the 
overshadowing  dread  that  he  would  be  held  up  to 
public  contempt,  that  the  church  would  be  scan 
dalized  and  visit  him  with  its  severest  penalties, 
that  he  would  be  torn  from  his  high  pedestal,  and 
perhaps  even  fall  a  victim  to  the  sanguinary  ven 
geance  of  an  implacable  husband. 

He  sprang  from  his  chair.  Under  the  weight 
of  all  this  threatened  disaster,  what  wonder  if  for 
the  time  Father  Titus  was  no  longer  a  responsible, 
rational  being?  What  wonder  if,  desperate,  wild, 
half  crazed,  seeing  the  mountain  of  his  sins  about 
to  fall  upon  him,  he  should  rush  to  his  chamber,  a 
deadly  purpose  animating  his  heated  brain  ? 

Upon  a  table  near  his  bedstead  stood  a  small 
medicine-chest.  This  the  priest  threw  open.  With 
agitated  fingers  he  selected  a  small  cut-glass  vial, 
containing  a  colorless  liquid.  Unscrewing  the  top 
of  the  vial  he  poured  a  few  drops  of  the  liquid  into 
a  glass,  to  which  he  added  some  water.  Then  he 


FATHER    TIIUS'S   TRAGIC    END.  471 

set  the  vial  back  in  its  place,  shut  the  chest,  and 
raising  the  glass  in  his  hand,  looked  steadily  at  its 
crystal-clear  contents. 

"Ah!  thou  potent  elixir!"  he  said.  "If  I 
were  only  as  sure  thou  couldst  charm  the  soul  to 
eternal  slumber,  as  I  know  thou  canst  the  body  !  " 

lie  put  the  glass  to  his  lips. 

But  some  qualms  still  appeared  to  restrain  him 
from  his  desperate  purpose. 

"  Bah  !  let  me  be  bold  ! "  he  muttered  in  self- 
contempt.  "  If  I  delay  I  shall  lose  courage  !  Am 
I  coward  as  well  as  fool?  No!  I  have  nothing 
left  to  live  for.  Life  offers  nought  but  broken 
hopes,  self-condemnation,  the  sneer  of  those  I 
despise,  or  worse  still,  the  pity  of  those  I  hate  ! 
Death  is  nothing.  There  can  be  no  protracted 
struggle  between  soul  and  body  after  taking  this 
quick-acting  drug.  It  strikes  like  the  knife  or  the 
bullet,  at  the  very  seat  of  life  ;  rather,  like  the 
lightning-stroke,  annihilating  with  a  flash  !  Dy 
ing  !  The  parting  with  loved  ones  —  with  father, 
mother,  wife  —  I  have  none!  none!  Why  then 
do  I  pause  ?  Surely  it  is  easier  to  die  than  to  face 
ignominy,  scorn,  reproach  !  It  is  but  a  plunge, 
and  all  is  over.  Welcome  then,  grim  shadow  ! 
Welcome  then,  death  !  " 

His  face  was  frightfully  pale,  but  his  hand  no 
longer  shook.  His  iron  will  had  braced  itself  to 
perform  its  most  terrible  act ! 


472  LAST    NIGHT   ALIVE. 

Again  he  placed  the  glass  to  his  lips,  then 
snatched  it  away,  and  set  it  down  upon  the  table. 
A  thought  born  of  a  sudden  hope,  dispersing  as 
with  a  breath  all  the  philosophy  he  had  invoked  to 
assist  him  to  perform  the  awful  deed,  had  suddenly 
given  him  pause. 

"  Ha  !  A  mere  suspicion  after  all !  "  he  cried. 
"  I  was  about  to  play  the  fool  with  a  vengeance  ! 
What  if  Rose  had  never  seen  Gertrude  Gilder- 
sleeve  !  Holy  Mother  !  Have  I  gone  mad  !  At 
least  I  will  wait  and  know  the  truth  from  her  own 
lips." 

He  went  to  a  desk,  hurriedly  wrote  a  few  lines 
upon  a  sheet  of  paper,  then  rang  the  bell  at  his 
bedside.  Patrick  appeared  in  answer  to  the 
summons. 

"  You  know  where  Mrs.  Delaney  lives,"  said  the 
priest.  "  Take  this  note  to  her.  Give  it  into  no 
hands  but  hers.  Wait  until  she  has  read  what  I 
have  written,  and  get  her  answer.  If  she  refuses 
to  do  what  I  have  requested,  tell  her  that  I  am 
very  sick,  —  nay,  dying  !  Stop  at  no  subterfuge, 
no  sophistry,  no  denial.  Get  her  to  come  back 
with  you  at  any  hazard.  Fail  not !  Do  you  hear  ? " 

"  Faith  and  I  do,  yer  riverence  !  And  sure  it's 
not  so  bad  with  ye  !  And  sure,  sure  it's  not  that 
ye  be  a-dyin' !  "  said  Patrick,  in  great  alarm,  and 
now  first  noticing  the  priest's  pallor. 


FATHER     TITUS'S    TRAGIC    END.  473 

"  Far  from  it,"  said  Father  Titus,  with  a  wintry 
smile.  "I  have  always  found  you  faithful,  Pat 
rick.  You  have  kept  to  yourself  such  secret  mat 
ters  as  I  have  from  time  to  time  intrusted  you 
with.  Your  fidelity  I  shall  not  forget.  Go  now, 
and  do  as  I  have  bidden  you." 

The  man  departed,  and  Father  Titus  seated 
himself  to  await  the  result  of  Patrick's  mission. 
He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  dial  of  the  mantel-clock, 
and  tried  to  concentrate  his  thoughts  solely  on  the 
movements  of  the  minute  hand ;  or  rather,  tried 
not  to  think  at  all !  A  stolid  look  settled  over  his 
face.  It  might  have  been  hours  that  he  sat  there, 
for  all  the  note  of  time  he  took.  At  last  he 
started  at  hearing  a  door  open.  He  arose  quickly, 
passed  into  the  outer  room,  and  found  himself  face 
to  face  with  Rose  Delaney. 

She  made  a  step  backward  on  seeing  him. 

"  He  —  he  told  me  you  were  sick,  dying, 
father,"  she  faltered,  with  averted  face. 

He  drew  nearer  to  her,  and  sought  to  take  her 
hand ;  but  she  shrank  shudderingly  away  from 
him. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  murmured,  weeping,  "  I  would  not 
have  come  here  if — if — " 

And  here  she  broke  completely  down,  unable 
to  say  more. 

"Is  it  indeed  so,  Rose?"  said  the  priest,  fold- 


474  LAST    NIGHT   ALIVE. 

ing  his  arms,  and  looking  sadly  upon  the  cower 
ing  figure  before  him.  "  What  has  happened, 
may  I  ask,  that  has  induced  this  strange  behavior 
toward  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  father,  do  not  ask  me,  I  pray,  but  let 
me  go  away  at  once,"  said  Rose,  hysterically. 

"Nay,  I  insist  on  your  answering,"  said  the 
priest,  sternly. 

"My  —  my  husband,"  sobbed  Rose. 

"  Ha  !  It  is  as  I  suspected,  then  !  Rose  Delaney, 
have  you  made  a  confession  to  your  —  your  hus 
band?" 

"Oh  !  forgive  me,  father.  I  could  not  help  it! 
He  —  he  wrung  it  from  me.  It  was  not  my 
fault ! " 

"  And  in  the  face  of  your  solemn  oath  —  in 
spite  of  that  vow,  with  all  its  dread  penalties  — 
you  have  dared  to  breathe  this  matter  into  another's 
ear?" 

"  Forgive  me,  father  ;  forgive  me  ! "  was  all  the 
frightened  Rose  could  say. 

"  Forgive  you  !  "  thundered  the  priest,  giving 
way  to  an  irrepressible  burst  of  passion.  "  Rather 
will  I  call  down  up,  n  your  head  the  curses  of —  " 

"Spare  me,  father!"  shrieked  Rose,  in  her 
terror  at  this  awful  threat,  clutching  at  his  uplifted 
arm  in  frantic  supplication. 

"  Spare  you,  unhappy  girl !  "  repeated  the  priest, 


FATHER   TITUS'S    TRAGIC    END.  475 

his  manner  changing,  and  letting  his  arms  fall 
listlessly  to  his  side,  while  his  head  drooped  in 
deep  dejection.  "  Oh !  Rose  !  What  have  you 
done  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  have  slain  me  ?  " 

But  Rose,  struggling  with  contending  emotions, 
had  now  lost  all  power  of  speech. 

"And  not  content  with  one  confession,"  con 
tinued  the  priest,  his  mood  again  changing,  "you 
dared  seek  one  who  placed  implicit  trust  in  me,  — 
you  dared  go  to  Gertrude  Gildersleeve,  and  pour 
this  poison  into  her  ear !  Speak !  Did  you  do 
this?" 

Rose,  terrified,  and  feeling  now  again  the  power 
ful  influence  of  the  priest,  sank  at  his  feet,  grasped 
at  his  garments,  moaning  piteously,  — 

"I  could  not  help  it,  father!  Spare  me,  oh! 
spare  me  !  John  made  me  do  it ;  he  compelled 
me  to  go  down  there,  and  I  had  no  power  to 
resist !  " 

The  priest  clasped  his  hands  before  his  face.  A 
deep  groan  burst  from  his  lips. 

"It  is  all  over !  "  he  said  to  himself. 

After  a  moment  he  seemed  to  make  an  effort  to 
command  himself,  and  raising  the  kneeling  woman 
to  her  feet,  he  asked,  in  a  strange,  husky  voice, — 

"  Where  is  your  husband,  Rose?" 

She  gave  him  an  uneasy  look. 

"  I  — I  do  not  know,  father,"  she  said,  hesitat 
ingly- 


476  LAST   NIGHT   ALIVE. 

"He  went  to  New  York  day  before  yesterday. 
Why  did  he  go  there?  " 

"  He  —  he  said  he  was  going-  on  business." 

"Business!"  exclaimed  the  priest,  incredu 
lously.  "  But  let  it  pass.  Rose,  what  did  your 
i  husband  say,  how  did  he  act,  when  you  made 
this  confession  to  him  ?  " 

"At  first  I  thought  it  had  killed  him,  father. 
Then  he  raved  like  a  madman.  At  last  he  rushed 
out  of  the  house.  It  was  late,  and  I  sat  all  night 
trembling  in  my  chair,  waiting  for  him  to  return, 
and  fearing  everything  terrible.  But  he  did  not 
come  back  until  long  after  daylight.  He  had 
walked  the  streets  all  night  long !  " 

"  What  did  he  say  when  he  returned?" 

"  Oh  !  oh  !     Do  not  ask  me  ! "  implored  Rose. 

"I  command  you  to  tell  me  !  "  said  the  priest, 
sternly. 

"Well,  he  said  he  had  reconsidered  hi*  first 
intention.  He  had  changed  his  mind." 

"  What  was  his  intention  when  he  rushed  out  of 
the  house?  Nay,  Rose,  you  must  and  shall  tell 
me  all ! " 

"He  —  he  said  his  first  impulse  was  to  come 
here  and —  and  kill  you,  strike  you  dead  I  " 

"Ah!     Well,  goon." 

"Afterward  his  brain  cooled.     He    thought  of 

O 

another  way  that  would,  as  he  expressed  it,  be  a 


FATHER    TITUs's    TRAGIC    END.  477 

much  harder  punishment  for  you  to  bear.  He  — 
he  went  down  town,  dragging  me  with  him.  Oh  ! 
father,  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  I  was  not  to 
blame  !  I  besought  and  prayed  him  not  to  do  it." 

"Where  did  you  go,  Rose?  " 

"To  a  lawyer's  office." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  To  a  Protestant  lawyer,  of  course  !  " 
ironically  exclaimed  the  priest.  "Well,  what 
happened  there?" 

"  Oh,  father !  They  compelled  me  to  repeat 
the  —  the  whole  confession." 

"Ha!"  again  exclaimed  the  priest,  his  hands 
working  nervously,  his  face  as  pale  as  death. 
''And  the  lawyer  wrote  down  what  you  said,  then 
read  it  all  over  to  you,  and  you  signed  the  docu 
ment  ?  Am  I  correct  ?  " 

Eose  dropped  her  eyes,  but  made  an  affirmative 
sign.  For  some  minutes  no  words  were  spoken. 
The  breathing  of  the  two  could  be  distinctly  heard, 
Hose's  respiration  rapid  and  fluttering,  like  that 
of  a  wounded  bird  in  the  hand  of  the  fowler ; 
the  priest's  breast  laboring  with  deep,  stertorous 
gusts,  evincing  the  terrible  agitation  that  oppressed 
him. 

At  last  Father  Titus  sunk  down  into  a  chair. 
His  head  dropped  upon  his  breast. 

"  Oh  !  my  Gocl !  "  he  murmured,  forgetful  of 
the  presence  of  another  in  the  room.  rf  Thy  thun- 


478  LAST   NIGHT    ALIVE. 

derbolt  has  found  me  !  Oh  !  is  there  no  refuge, 
no  hope  of  escape?  No,  alas!  none!" 

Then  suddenly  aware  that  Hose  was  still  present, 
he  raised  his  head,  and  pointing  to  the  door,  said 
in  singularly  gentle  tones,  — 

"  Go,  my  child.  I  will  not  keep  you  longer. 
Would  to  heaven  I  could  assist  you  in  this  your 
time  of  trial.  But  no  creature  on  earth  is  now  so 
powerless  as  I  am.  You  have  made  me  less  than 
the  humblest  scavenger  of  the  streets  !  " 

"Oh!  father!  father!"  sobbed  Rose,  her  heart 
torn  at  the  sight  of  his  utter  misery,  her  eyes 
brimming  with  tears. 

He  motioned  her  away,  but  not  harshly. 

"Leave  me,  Rose.  I  have  much  to  do,  much 
to  think  of." 

"Bless  me,  father,"  sobbed  Rose,  throwing  her 
self  at  his  feet,  and  clasping  his  knees.  "  Say 
that  you  forgive  me  before  I  go  !  " 

He  placed  his  hands  upon  her  head,  then  tore 
them  away  with  sudden  horror. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  would  be  an 
act  of  profanation,  of  blasphemy !  I  forgive 
you,  my  child,  fully,  freely.  But  for  heaven's 
pardon,  seek  that  in  your  closet  on  your  bended 
knees !  Go  now,  my  child.  Farewell !  Fare 
well  ! " 

Slowly,  sorrowfully,  Rose  Delaney  retired ;   she 


FATIIEH    TITUS'S   TRAGIC    END.  479 

paused  ;it  the  door,  turned  one  last,  lingering 
look  on  the  bowed  figure  of  her  destroyer ;  and 
then  Father  Titus  was  alone. 

An  hour  passed.  Suddenly  throughout  the 
house  there  resounded  a  dull,  heavy  shock,  seem 
ing  to  come  from  the  apartments  of  Father  Titus, 
and  accompanied  by  a  cry  so  shrill  and  piercing 
that  it  startled  every  inmate  of  the  parsonage. 

A  frightened  throng  of  priests,  curates,  and 
domestics  came  hurrying  from  the  adjoining 
rooms.  They  crowded  in  speechless  consterna 
tion  round  the  prostrate  form  upon  the  floor, 
which  was  writhing  in  horrible  convulsions,  lie 
was  lifted  upon  the  bed,  and  still  conscious,  despite 
his  awful  distress,  managed  to  articulate,  — 

''  Send  for  —  "  He  whispered  a  name,  and  then 
continued.  "  Send  for  him,  for  I  am  dying,  and 
to  no  other  can  I  confess  !  " 

They  hastened  to  do  what  the  dying  priest 
wished,  and  soon  a  man  of  august  presence,  whose 
usually  mild  eye  now  flashed  with  the  masterful 
energy  of  one  accustomed  to  meet  great  emer 
gencies,  hastily  entered. 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  cleared  the  room. 
Then  he  bent  over  the  dying  man. 

"  Father,  are  you  conscious  ?  " 

A  gesture  signified  assent. 

"  Have  you  reason  to  believe  that  you  are  near 
your  last  hour?  " 


480  LAST   NIGHT   ALIVE. 

"I  —  am  —  dying,"  murmured  Father  Titus, 
making  an  extreme  cflbrt  to  speak. 

"  Have  you  strength  to  undergo  confession,  and 
receive  the  last  rites  of  the  church?" 

For  answer,  the  priest  pointed  to  a  table  on 
which  was  a  glass  and  a  decanter  partially  filled 
with  wine. 

The  other,  understanding  the  motion,  and 
recognizing  the  extremity  of  the  case,  poured  out 
a  glass  of  the  wine  and  held  it  to  the  dying  man's 
lips. 

Now  revived,  Father  Titus  unburdened  his 
soul  of  its  doleful  weight.  His  last  words  were 
so  faint  that  the  priest  was  obliged  to  bend  down 
his  ear  close  to  the  lips  of  the  dying  man. 

These  last  words,  feeble  and  broken,  and  given 
with  an  expiring  effort,  were,  — 

"Father,  for  the  sake  of  our  Holy  Mother 
Giurch,  let  not  this  scandal  ever  come  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  world  !  There  are  ways  to  stop 
babbling  lips.  There  are  means  —  " 

The  listening  priest  gave  an  assuring  answer, 
and  then,  at  a  signal  from  Father  Titus,  proceeded 
to  administer  extreme  unction, — the  last  solemn 
ceremony  to  comfort  and  speed  the  parting  soul. 

Ten  minutes  later  Father  Titus  breathed  his  last , 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

FUNKRAL    OF     FATHER  TITUS.  —  VICTIMS    OF    SINNERS 
IN    BROADCLOTH. 

FATHER  TITUS  was  the  Richelieu  of  New  Eng 
land.  Politician  and  priest.  Richelieu  with  his 
niece,  or  perhaps  a  bevy  of  nieces.  The  spider 
who  wove  his  meshes  in  the  dark.  Who  laid  his 
wires  while  Protestants  were  asleep.  Whose 
secret  spies  answered  him  day  and  night,  as  by 
telephone.  The  great  opposer  of  secret  societies, 
yet  secret  societies'  chief  champion.  How  is  he 
to  win  ?  By  making  war  on  every  other  sect.  No 
alliance,  no  compromise.  Combine  with  infidelity 
to  put  down  orthodoxy.  Drunk  or  sober,  no 
temperance  society  without  the  priest.  No  pro 
hibit  ion,  by  any  means.  If  Wendell  Phillips  will 
flatter  the  Irish  and  condemn  English  Protestants, 
then  praise  him,  cheer  him  to  the  echo.  If  he  will 
lecture  on  Daniel  O'Connell,  and  do  it  free  gratis 
and  for  nothing,  give  him  a  crowded  house.  Let 
applause  burst  forth  from  pit  to  dome  in  praise 
of  the  "generous,  noble-hearted,  eilver-tonguod 
orator."  But  if  Wendell  Phillips  stands  for  gov- 


482  FUNERAL    OF    FATHER    TITUS. 

ernor,  and  solicits  Irish  votes,  then  scratch  off 
his  name.  Prohibition  don't  go  down  the  Celtic 
throat.  Whiskey  does  ! 

Liquor  sellers  have  votes,  they  know  their 
friends.  Gamblers  have  sympathies,  they  go 
where  best  dealt  with.  Politicians  know  when  and 
whom  to  flatter.  Pay  well  at  a  lottery  fair,  and 
you  win  the  election.  On  Sunday  high  mass  in 
the  morning  and  "  hi !  hi  !  hi  !  "  in  the  afternoon. 
After  mass,  streams  of  men  flow  to  the  nearest 
rum  shop  like  ducks  to  the  water.  Open  bar  on 
Sunday  and  a  hundred  drinks  in  an  hour.  Fifty 
in  twenty  minutes.  This  by  actual  count. 

How  to  retain  power?  Give  a  sop  to  liberalism. 
Let  Beacon  Hill  play  bob  to  the  Vatican  kite  for 
sake  of  the  spoils  of  office.  Share  the  "  divy." 
P>y  and  by  this  pandering  to  scepticism  kills  the 
goose  that  lays  the  golden  egg.  Infidelity  is  the 
nursed  dragon  that  bides  its  time.  Woe  to  Cathol 
icism  when  infidelity  triumphs  !  Woe  to  it  when 
its  sins  are  laid  bare,  and  the  day  of  reckoning 
comes ! 

Father  Titus  saw  that  Boston's  nine  millions  of 
taxes  were  to  be  fingered  by  somebody,  and  who 
would  do  more  good  with  the  money  than  the 
Catholics?  Who  could  better  help  the  church? 
Who  could  more  conveniently  drop  a  million  or 
two,  now  and  then,  into  the  hands  of  the  church? 


VICTIMS    OF    SIXNEUS    IX    BROADCLOTH.         483 

What  though  moneyed  men  groan  at  the  heavy  taxes 
and  move  off  to  Newport,  Naliant,  and  the  country? 
Their  real  estate,  their  banks  and  buildings,  are 
here,  let  them  pay  for  the  great  criminal  and  pau 
per  army,  also  for  street  laborers  and  church 
voters. 

What  though  the  State  interferes  to  prevent 
Boston's  deeper  debt?  Why  then  raise  the  valua 
tion,  •water  the  stock  ;  tell  the  assessors  to  mark 
high ;  a  few  millions  must  be  had.  Boston  is 
superior  to  the  State,  an  independent  province. 
No  unpopular  law  can  be  executed  in  Boston  unless 
by  Federal  courts.  Not  even  against  obscene 
literature. 

Let  an  orthodox  bank  defaulter  be  caught,  and 
woe  be  to  him  !  Loud  his  condemnation,  and  long 
his  sentence.  Let  a  Catholic  take  a  few  thousands 
and  he  has  friends  at  court.  Let  sixteen  hundred 
liquor  sellers  be  arrested,  and  their  cases  are  placed 
.')!i  file  and  never  called.  The  district-attorney  has 
more  power  than  judge  or  jury.  lie  is  elected  by 
criminal  votes.  He  condemns  and  he  acquits  at 
will.  Let  the  biggest  gamblers,  the  biggest  lot 
tery  men,  and  keepers  of  the  most  disreputable 
houses  be  complained  of,  and  the  complaint  will 
not  get  an  airing.  Excuse,  "  Want  of  testimony." 

So f-  Boston  has  not  improved  under  the  new 
administration  of  Beacon  Hill  and  the  Catholic- 


484  FUNERAL    OF    FATHER    TITUS. 

church.  Father  Titus  settled  on  Puritan  soil  to 
banish  Puritanism  from  its  chosen  seat.  And 
well  has  he  succeeded.  Boston  has  become  the 
mart  where  Knock  relics,  holy  water,  indulgences, 
beads,  blessings,  and  miracle  wonders  have  a 
market  value.  Titus  found  Boston  writh  but  one 
Catholic  church  and  one  bishop.  He  lived  to 
see  it  contain  more  than  a  score  of  churches,  and 
become  the  seat  of  an  archbishop. 

Under  his  fostering  care,  churches,  institutions, 
schools,  secret  societies,  convents,  orphan  asy 
lums,  arose  as  by  magic.  A  Moses  of  the  Irish 
race,  he  struck  the  desert  rock  of  finance,  and  out 
gushed  flowing  streams  of  gold.  Millions  un 
counted  flowed  like  a  river  through  his  hands. 
One  Catholic  tells  me  that  he  handled  $900,000 
in  money  for  building  one  church  edifice.  Bun 
dles  of  greenbacks,  gifts  from  various  congrega 
tions,  were  piled  on  the  floor  several  feet  high. 
How  much  were  spent  on  luxurious  nieces,  dames 
d'amour,  pianos,  furniture,  horses,  carriages, 
cigars,  wines,  brandies,  palace-car  travels,  and 
trips  to  Europe,  no  mortal  will  ever  know.  That 
matters  not  so  long  as  he  won  laurels  to  the  church. 
He  was  decked  with  all  the  honors  of  the  church, 
•:i:id  buried  in  her  most  holy  sepulchre. 

Magnificent  was  Father  Titus's  funeral.  Long 
\  recessions  of  church  officials  and  State  dignitaries 


VICTIMS    OF    SINNERS    IN    BROADCLOTH.          485 

swelled  the  concourse.  Consecrated  bells  spoke 
the  voice  of  wailing  as  they  tolled,  tolled,  tolled 
the  solemn  knell,  giving  forth  the  sad  tidings  with 
emphasis  that  a  "great  man  in  Israel  has  fallen." 

Plumes  decked  horses  and  hearse.  The  church 
was  hung  in  mourning ;  walls,  doors,  windows, 
pulpit,  and  chancel  were  heavily  draped  in  black. 
Dirges  filled  the  sanctuary,  requiems  of  high  mass 
were  responded  to  with  sobs  and  tears.  Candles 
blazing  from  altar,  ceiling,  and  catafalque  lighted 
his  departing  spirit  from  earth  to  heaven.  Eulo 
gies  were  pronounced,  lauding  to  the  skies  his 
piety  and  his  virtues.  Amidst  clouds  of  incense, 
prayers,  dulcet  symphonies  and  laudations,  his 
soul  tarried  for  a  time  to  bid  farewell  to  earth, 
then,  with  the  angelic  escort,  took  its  lasting 
flight  to  heaven.  Ah  !  me  !  Who  would  not  be 
a  priest?  Who  would  not  die  in  the  bosom  of 
the  church? 

Weeping  around  that  bier  in  jewelled  attire 
were  several  of  his  and  other  priestly  victims. 
Some  had  lost  their  beauty,  assumed  family  rela 
tions,  and  buried  the  past.  Some,  alas  !  were; 
not  there,  they  Lad  been  buried  in  the  tomb. 
Some  were  buried  in  that  living  tomb  the  con 
vent.  The  oath  of  secrecy,  a  hundred-fold  more, 
binding  than  oath  to  Deity  by  civil  magistrate, 
had  held  their  lips  sealed. 


486  FUNERAL    OF   FATHER    TITUS. 

To  Father  Titus  they  had  yielded  as  to  a  divine 
being.  He  appeared  as  a  demigod.  His  noble 
physique,  great  magnetic  nature  was  captivating, 
irresistible.  He  stood  as  God's  vicegerent.  He 
assumed  the  prerogative  of  heaven  by  absolving 
sins  on  earth.  But  wasps  may  slay  an  elephant. 
So  the  caresses  of  a  few  fair  maidens  may  plant 
the  stings  that  shall  kill  a  priest.  They  had  been 
taught  that  to  "yield  to  the  priest  is  to  honor 
God.  The  priest  can  do  no  wrong,  he  can  absolve 
all."  No  wonder  those  present  were  filled  with 
horror  at  seeing  their  idol  so  suddenly  struck 
down. 

Rose  Dclaney  was  among  the  number  who  wept 
the  loudest.  Her  heart  was  crushed  as  if  in  wid 
owhood.  Father  Titus's  rich  gifts  of  jewelry, 
dresses,  shawls,  were  still  in  her  possession, 
costly  ornaments  still  graced  her  person,  and  the 
mairic  ring  inscribed  "  Titus  to  Rose"  still  adorned 

<!^  O 

her  delicate  finger. 

Among  all  his  female  victims  only  one  had 
dared  to  make  oath  to  his  crimes.  Dared  to 
swear  to  the  truth  in  spite  of  the  church.  Dared 
its  threats  and  maledictions.  Dared  to  break  the 
oath  that  binds  for  time  and  eternity.  The  victim 
who  reveals  the  crimes  of  a  priest  may  be  forbid 
den  even  to  die.  Must  walk  the  earth  a  ghost  of 
despair,  amid  cursings,  whirlwinds,  fiery  flames, 


VICTIMS    OF    SINNERS    IN    BHOADCLOTH.         487 

shadows  :md  groans.  Purgatory  would  be  a  haven 
of  rest,  hell  itself  a  coveted  relief.  Such  is  the 
story  told  me  by  one  of  the  faithful. 

One  female,  however,  dared  Father  Titus  to 
meet  her  in  open  court.  She  swore  to  years  of 
continued  intimacy  and  of  most  flagrant  adultery. 
A  suit  was  brought  by  her  husband,  damages  laid 
high,  but  the  case  was  settled  by  paying  a  few 
thousand  dollars,  and  the  matter  was  hushed. 
The  newspapers  were  all  silenced,  and  the  writ, 
though  served,  was  never  recorded.  Such  is  the 
power  of  the  church  to  conceal. 

Now  let  a  poor  Protestant  clergyman  fall  into 
crime,  and  the  papers  jump  at  the  scandal.  They 
gloat  with  affected  horror  at  the  sight,  and  blaze 
with  lugubrious  lamentations. 

At  the  same  time,  a  Catholic  priest  may  be  incar 
cerated  for  days  in  the  lock-up,  and  nothing  is  said 
by  the  press.  The  public  to  this  day  may  be 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  fact.  Fair  play  !  Fair 
play  !  Oh,  ye  gentlemen  of  the  press,  give  us 
fair  play  !  Though  we  be  weak  in  politics  and 
small  in  the  land  of  our  birth,  yet  we  ask  at  least 
justice. 

"Why,  Mr.  Morgan,  you  will  offend  your  best 
friends." 

No,  no,  they  know  me  too  well.  They  know 
my  motives,  and  my  object.  The  true  Catholic  even 


488  FUNERAL   OF    FATHER   TITUS. 

wants  to  see   the  priesthood   reformed,    and   the 
church  purified. 

"  Well,  how  can  the  church  bo  reformed  ?  " 
Ans.     Not  by  powers  within,    but   by    powers 
without.    If  the  bishop's  seal  holds  the  destinies  of 
all  men,  then  strike  at  the  seal,  strike  at  the  cro- 
zier,  the  mitre. 

''Then  you  would  appeal  to  the  pope." 
No !      As   well    appeal   to    a    dead     Napoleon. 
America   says  to  all  foreign  potentates,  "  Hands 
of." 

"  How  then  can  you  touch  the  mitre  ?  " 
By   public    opinion.       Vox    populi,     vox    Dei. 
Awaken  a  volcanic  force  that  shall  make  the  hand 
that  holds  the  sceptre  tremble  in  its  grasp  unless  it 
yields  to  reform. 

Yet  Boston  has  far  worse  sinners  than  Catholics. 
Who  are  they?  They  are  sinners  in  broadcloth. 
Sinners  schooled,  not  in  the  church,  but  in  the  dis 
sipations  of  Paris.  Old-country  habits  have  poi 
soned  American  life.  Left-handed  marriages  have 
crept  in,  two  establishments  are  allowed.  Degen 
erate  sons  of  noble  sires  are  aping  the  rotten  aris 
tocracy  of  effete  monarchies. 

Boston  has  her  kings.  Kings  of  Finance.  Kings 
of  Commerce.  Kings  of  Learning.  All  honor  to 
them !  They  have  dignified  her  name  !  Given 
honor  to  her  institutions  !  Spanned  the  continent 


VICTIMS    OF    SINNERS    IN    BROADCLOTH.          489 

with  railroads,  built  colleges.  Spread  her  philan 
thropic  intelligence  abroad.  Upheld  her  integrity 
to  all  the  world  ! 

Lut  she  has  also  other  kings.  Despot  Midas- 
cs,  at  whose  touch  all  things  turn  to  gold,  but 
whose  moral  influence  is  like  the  seething  simoon, 
or  blighting  volcano.  Whose  fiats  go  forth  to  blast, 
to  scorch  and  to  destroy.  Who  delile  and  des 
ecrate  !  Whose  trophies  are  broken  hearts ! 
Whose  achievements  are  sundered  ties  and  wasted 
lives.  Whose  victories  are  over  the  weak,  the 
frail,  the  poor,  the  unprotected. 

There  arc  domestic  tragedies  in  Boston  that  do 

O 

not  find  their  way  into  the  public  prints.  Wealth 
may  hide  its  shameful  secrets  while  pauper  vices 
are  bruited  to  the  world.  Now  and  then,  how 
ever,  a  skeleton  is  unearthed.  Why  do  I  speak  of 
this?  To  awaken  moral  indignation.  Warn  the 
unsuspecting.  Open  the  eyes  of  the  public.  Let 
these  ruthless  Money  Kings,  Rent  Kings,  Kings  of 
Trade,  know  that  though  they  may  defy  society, 
contemn  the  church,  break  the  law,  yet  God  does 
not  sleep  !  His  judgments  are  sure  !  Their  sins 
shall  find  them  out ! 

Here  is  an  instance :  A  young  and  beautiful 
wife.  Wife  of  a  clergyman.  A  King  of  Trade 
casts  his  eyes  upon  her.  She  resists,  hesitates, 
falls  at  last.  She  returns  to  her  country  home, 


490  FUNEKAL    OF   FATHER   TITUS. 

veiling  her  shame  under  the  sanctity  of  her  hus 
band's  name. 

Another :  The  wife  of  a  wealthy  contractor. 
Purchasing  more  goods  than  she  cared  to  have  her 
husband  know,  she  begs  the  merchant  prince  not 
to  present  the  bill.  He  consents  to  withhold  it, 
but  at  a  fearful  cost,  — the  price  of  her  soul. 

Here  is  a  Rent  King.  A  beautiful  woman  whose 
husband  lies  sick,  is  unable  to  pay  the  rent.  She 
comes  pleading  for  mercy.  Wealth  names  the 
price.  Beauty,  innocence,  and  poverty,  bow ! 
That  pure  home  is  desecrated  forever ! 

O,  Boston,  Boston !  Once  the  pride  of  all 
America  !  Beacon  light  of  freedom  !  Shield  of 
the  exiled  !  Refuge  of  the  oppressed  !  Home  of 
culture  !  What  shall  be  thy  doom  ? 

Boston  is  New  England's  headquarters  of  temp 
tation.  The  monster  mill  that  grinds  and  crushes 
innocent  beings,  gathered  from  every  New  Eng 
land  State.  The  gigantic  serpent  that  charms, 
envenoms,  and  consumes.  Thousands  of  guileless 
and  unsuspecting  ones  are  fascinated  and  enticed 
from  their  country  homes,  and  become  food  for 
the  serpent's  maw. 

This  food  furnishes  a  virus  that  beats  back  in 
poisonous  veins  to  every  hill-top  and  home. 

A  hundred  Minnie  Marstons  die  yearly  in  Bos 
ton. 


VICTIMS  OF    SINNERS    IN    BROADCLOTH.         491 

Maine  and  New  Hampshire  groan  at  every  throb 
of  Boston's  wicked  heart. 

The  contaminations  of  her  poison,  rum-shops, 
brothels,  her  gambling  dens,  her  licentious  amuse 
ments  pulsate  back  to  every  city  and  town. 

The  pine  woods  of  Maine  whisper  sighs  over  hoi- 
lost  children.  Maine's  struggle  against  strong 
drink  is  marvellous.  She  cries,  "  O  greedy  Bos 
ton,  do  not  force  the  cup  to  our  children's  lips  !  ' 

The  granite  hills  of  New  Hampshire  look  down 
in  grief  and  sorrow  upon  her  desolate  homes, 
robbed  to  fill  Boston's  dens  of  shame. 

The  waves  of  the  Connecticut,  the  Merrimac, 
and  Penobscot  bear  tears,  sorrows,  and  wailings  to 
the  sea.  The  sea  takes  up  the  lamentations  and 
pours  them  into  Boston  Harbor. 

Ten  thousand  cyprians  walk  her  streets.  One 
thousand  die  every  year.  Placed  hand  to  hand 
they  extend  a  mile.  One  mile  of  human  beings 
inarching  in  funeral  procession  to  the  grave. 
Three  hundred  victims  in  the  prison-house  at 
Deer  Island. 

In  sight  of  Deer  Island  is  Nahant  with  its  four 
millions  of  gold.  Summer  seat  by  the  sea ! 
Hark,  a  storm  !  The  beetling  crags  beat  back 
orpin's  tempestuous  charges  and  laugh  at  the 
wreck  of  waves  breaking  at  their  feet. 

In  those  cells  are  three    hundred  victims  who 


492  FUNERAL   OF   FATHER  TITUS. 

could  not  resist  the  waves  of  temptation.  Instead 
of  standing  up  like  the  rock,  they  bent  their 
heads  like  the  willow. 

Solicitations  of  pampered  libertines  glittering  in 
wealth  were  more  potent  than  ocean  waves. 

Hark,  some  are  dying !  The  cries  of  three 
hundred  Deer  Island  cells  echo  their  meanings  to 
the  sea. 

Two  great  sewers  pass  down  Boston  Harbor. 
One  empties  to  the  sea.  The  other  through 
Deer  Island  to  eternity.  One  now  in  construc 
tion  to  Moon  Island  beneath  the  surface  tunnel 
ling  the  ocean.  The  other  a  great  moral  sewer 
of  sin.  Outlet  of  Boston's  death  streams. 

Hear,  O  Heaven,  the  groans  of  the  victims! 
Witness  their  sighs  and  prayers  !  Here  I  build  a 
pyramid  of  woe  !  It  is  made  of  broken  hearts  ! 
On  this  funeral  pile  let  me  gather  the  tears  and 
pray  el's  of  the  disconsolate,  the  sighs  and  lamen 
tations  of  parents  and  children,  the  anguish  of 
broken  hearts  and  the  ashes  of  desolated  homes, 
until  there  goes  up  from  beneath  the  altar  of  the 
blood  of  them  that  are  slain  one  universal  prayer, 
"How  LONG,  O  LORD  GOD  OMNIPOTENT,  dost  tJiou 
not  judge  and  avenge  our  blood  on  them  that  dwell 
upon  the  earth." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 
COST  OF  BOSTON'S  FUN.  —  FUN,  FUN,  BREAD  OR  NO 

BREAD. 

"REJOICE,  oh  young  man,  in  thy  youth;  let 
thy  heart  cheer  thee."  (Ecc.  xi.  9.)  That  text 
suits  young  men  of  to-day,  and  it's  about  the  only 
text  that  pleases  the  majority.  They  interpret  it, 
"  Go  it  while  you  're  young ;  when  you  get  old 
you  can't."  Solomon  knew  how  it  was  himself. 
He'd  been  there.  When  young  he  went  in  for  a 
good  time.  In  his  later  days  he  got  into  trouble. 
Then  he  put  a  handle  on  the  text,  —  a  "  but."  He 
said,  "But  know  thou  for  all  these  things  God 
will  bring  thee  to  judgment."  Boys,  to-day, 
take  the  text  without  a  handle;  without  a  "but" 
or  "if."  They  jump  the  consequences;  dodge 
the  "  hereafter."  Their  catechism  reads,  First, 
"What  is  the  chief  end  of  man?"  Answer, — 
"  Fun."  Second,  "  What  the  main  object  in  life  ?" 
Answer,  -  "  How  to  be  amused ;  how  to  get  to 
the  next  show."  Give  (hem  their  choice,  present 
to  them  fun  or  fortune,  fun  or  fame,  fun  or  bread, 
and  they  say,  "  Give  us  fun,  bread  or  no  bread  !" 


494  COST  OF  BOSTON'S  FUN. 

They  must  have  fun !  fun  !  fun  !  even  with  the 
elbows  out  and  toes  on  the  ground  I  fun,  lodg 
ings  or  no  lodgings  !  fun  at  any  cost !  fun,  though 
the  heavens  fall.  What  is  this  fun?  Horse- 
racing,  boat-racing,  ball-playing,  billiards,  bicy 
cles,  betting,  pedestrianism,  "  taking  a  drop," 
singing,  "  Rah  !  rah  !  rah  !  We  won't  go  home 
till  morning." 

What  a  change  in  twenty  years  !  Then  sin  was 
considered  a  transgression  to  be  punished.  Now, 
an  infirmity  to  be  condoned.  Then  trade  was 
based  on  confidence.  A  man's  word  was  as  good 
as  his  bond.  Now  it  is  based  on  distrust,  and 
watched  by  private  detectives.  Then  bankrupts 
and  defaulters  were  few.  Now,  many.  .  Then 
young  men  were  economical.  Now  they  spend 
more  for  cigars  and  luxuries  than  they  do  for 
bread.  Then  they  bought  their  clothes,  and  car 
ried  them  home  themselves.  Now  if  they  buy  a 
box  of  paper  collars,  it  must  be  sent  home  on 
wheels.  Once  it  was  thought  an  honor  to  saw 
wood  for  exercise.  Now  wood-sawing  is  left  to 
tramps. 

Then  morality  was  required  in  a  clerk.  Now, 
smartness  and  cheek.  Then  clerks  were  intro 
duced  to  the  minister  as  a  token  of  respectability. 
Now  they  are  introduced  to  the  prima  donna  of  the 
theatre  or  demijohn.  Then  they  read  the  Prayer 


FUN,    FUN,    BREAD  OR  NO  BREAD.  495 

Book  and  Bible.  Now,  the  Sunday  papers.  Then 
lotteries  were  not  advertised.  Now  they  are  our 
Sunday  reading.  Then  there  were  no  Sunday 
horse  and  steam  cars,  or  steamboat  excursions. 
Now  pleasure  parties  every  Sunday,  crowded 
steamboats,  and  open  liquor  bars.  Then  three  or 
four  theatres  sufficed  for  Boston.  Now,  forty 
theatres  more  or  less.  Half  of  them  Sunday- 
night  seances.  Then  suicides  and  murders  were 
rare.  Now  three  murderers  are  hung  in  New 
England  on  a  single  day.  Then  pre-natal  mur 
ders  were  few.  Physicians  tell  us  there  are  now 
50,000  abortions  every  year  in  Massachusetts. 
Then  pool-selling  was  not  in  vogue.  Now,  with 
out  a  $500  pool  tied  to  their  tails,  horses  won't 
trot,  and  games  of  base- ball  can't  be  played. 

Owners  of  horses  and  trotting  parks  confessed 
before  the  Legislature  that  parks  won't  pay,  and 
horses  won't  trot,  without  betting.  Those  men 
came  up  before  the  Legislature  in  mourning. 
They  sat  on  the  anxious-seat.  The  Jerusalem  of 
their  hopes  was  in  ruins.  The  grand  stand  echoed 
no  more  the  starting  bell.  Music  was  hushed. 
Trotting  was  suspended.  Their  harps  were  hung 
on  the  willows  of  Charles  River.  Why  ?  Because 
the  law  forbids  pool  selling  at  the  race-course. 

Twenty  years  ago  liquor  investments  in  Bos 
ton  were  only  five  millions.  Now  they  are  fif- 


496  COST  OF  BOSTON'S  FUN. 

teen  millions.  Then  Sunday  liquor  selling  was 
under  a  ban.  Now  there  are  more  persons  in  the 
liquor  shops  Sunday  than  there  are  in  the  churches. 

Then  Boston  was  all  on  fire  with  religious  zeal. 
Park  Street  Church  had  its  signs  out :  "Come  in"  ; 
"Meeting  every  evening ";  "  Strangers  welcome." 
Then  the  Old  South  Chapel  in  Spring  Lane  was 
filled  every  morning  with  earnest  worshippers. 

The  rooms  of  the  Christian  Association,  Tre- 
mont  Temple,  were  packed  every  noon.  Then  the 
Methodists,  full  of  zeal,  "held  the  fort"  at  the 
North  End.  Father  Mason  on  his  battle  ship  at 
the  "Black  Sea."  Father  Taylor  combating  sin 
at  North  Square.  Phineas  Stowe,  a  power  at  the 
Bethel.  Dr.  Nicholson  electrified  crowds  at  St. 
Paul's.  Dr.  D.  C.  Eddy  had  a  continued  revival 
at  the  Harvard  Street  Church.  Young  Manning, 
the  pet  of  the  Boston  ministry,  filled  the  Old 
South  with  new-born  zeal.  Dr.  Huntington 
aroused  the  Episcopal  ranks,  and  stirred  the  whole 
city  with  his  home-mission  work. 

Even  Dr.  Hale's  church,  on  Castle  Street  was 
opened  for  Father  Mason's  meetings,  and  Dr.  Kirk 
had  just  sent  out  among  his  converts  D.  L.  Moody, 
the  evangelist,  and  John  B .  Gough.  Then  glorious 
were  the  days  of  our  Zion.  But  why  this  decline  ? 
Because  crime  is  rampant.  Rogues  are  bold,  and 
the  laws  are  defied.  Grim  murder  stalks  through 


FUN,    FUN,    BREAD   OR   NO   BREAD.  497 

the  land.  Hidden  crimes  are  hourly  brought  to 
light.  Unburied  victims,  swept  up  by  the  tide, 
rise  from  the  river  like  accusing  ghosts,  demand 
ing  vengeance  on  the  heads  of  their  destroyers. 
Boston's  Sabbath  bells  never  toll  without  striking 
the  knell  of  some  unburied,  murdered  victim. 

The  walls  of  the  Sabbath  are  broken  down. 
The  Bible  is  discarded.  The  arm  of  the  law  is 
paralyzed.  Open,  Sunday 'theatres,  concerts,  ex 
cursions,  and  empty  churches.  The  conscience  of 
Boston  is  killed.  She  has  sown  the  wind,  and  is 
reaping  the  whirlwind.  Then  !  and  now  !  O  what 
a  change  in  twenty  years  ! 

Now  what  is  the  cost  of  Boston's  fun  ?  Boston 
paid  last  year  for  public  schools,  $1,700,000  ;  for 
sports  and  amusements,  $2,500,000 :  nearly  a 
million  more  for  fun  than  for  education.  Boston 
supports  forty  theatres,  more  or  less,  ten  regular, 
ten  irregular,  and  twenty  Sunday-night  theatres 
in  the  shape  of  spiritual  seances,  all  charging 
admittance  fees.  There  are  seances  from  five 
cents  to  $1.00.  There  you  have  a  regular  variety 
show  with  a  full  bill  of  attractions  :  ghost-show 
ing,  cabinet  tricks,  sleight-of-hand,  with  curtains, 
cabinet-boxes,  dark  lanterns,  trap-doors,  ringing 
bells,  sounding  guitars,  lifting  pianos,  untying 
ropes,  showing  of  hands,  heads  and  faces,  —  made 
to  order  out  of  plaster,  wax,  and  rubber,  costing 

32 


498  COST  OF  BOSTON'S  FUN. 

twenty-five  cents  apiece.  Oh,  piety  !  what  sac 
rilege  is  committed  in  thy  name  !  What  perform 
ances  for  Sunday  evening !  What  jugglery, 
under  the  disguise  of  spirit  communications ! 
What  a  farce  of  sacred  things !  What  trifling 
with  the  tenderest  emotions  and  affections  of  the 
human  heart !  What  mockery !  What  decep 
tions,  what  false  messages,  duping  the  sorrowing 
and  bereaved  with  fancied  glimpses  of  loved  ones 
lost !  All  this  imposture  permitted,  even  pro 
tected,  on  Sunday  night  in  Boston,  —  the  highest 
cultured  city  in  America  ! 

Yet  there  is  worse  to  come.  I  speak  not  of  the 
theory  of  Spiritualism,  but  of  humbugs.  Not  of  its 
sincere  believers,  but  of  its  quacks  and  charlatans. 
From  their  Delphian  dens  spreads  a  poison  that 
severs  the  most  sacred  of  home  ties  !  Noxious 
nightshade,  whose  deadly  venom  contaminates  the 
moral  atmosphere  of  hundreds  of  households  !  Here 
the  neophyte  first  turns  the  glowing  pages  of  that 
book  whose  doctrines  lead  down  to  death  !  Here, 
under  pretence  of  exploring  heavenly  mysteries,  is 
held  the  pernicious  worship  of  Venus  and  Astarte  ! 
Here  meet  the  tempter  and  the  willing  dupe  ;  here 
false  oracles  assume  prophetic  inspiration,  only  to 
deceive !  Here,  from  lif-r  mystic  tripod,  the 
modern  Pythoness  issues  her  decrees,  pregnant 
with  fate !  At  her  word  the  holiest  altars  are 


FUN,    FUN,    BREAD   OR   NO    BREAD. 

ruthlessly  desecrated !  By  her  voice  is  pro 
nounced  the  doom  of  myriad  confiding  hearts.  At 
her  unhallowed  shrine  many  a  Croesus  lays  down 
his  oblation  of  gold,  only  to  be  betrayed.  Lured 
by  her  false  beacons,  many  a  rich-freighted  argosy 
is  wrecked,  many  a  youthful  hope  driven  on  the 
rocks  of  despair. 

Now  for  the  facts.  In  the  lap  of  one  of  these 
sibyls,  a  bank  president  heaped  the  savings  of 
thousands  of  trusting  depositors.  No  wonder  that 
bank  failed  !  Another  instance  :  the  treasurer  of 
three  corporations  forsakes  his  family  to  bask  in 
the  smiles  of  the  sorceress,  and  yields  to  her  cir- 
cean  charms.  Upon  her  he  lavishes  the  rich  hoards 
confided  to  his  care.  Xo  wonder  those  corpora 
tions  are  insolvent !  Look  at  that  stricken  wife, 
whose  husband  has  been  alienated,  crying,  "  Ch  ! 
I  have  not  deserved  this  !  I  have  been  true  to  my 
husband,  yet  am  forsaken  !  I  have  no  desire  to 
live  !  Let  me  die  !  "  She  plunges  from  the  ferry 
boat,  and  the  dark  waters  close  over  her  forever. 

Another  — a  frenzied  wife  —  swallows  the  fatal 
drug,  expires  at  her  husband's  feet,  crying,  "  This 
is  your  work!  I  die  !  I  die!"  There  is  a  wife 
leaving  home,  husband,  children,  to  die  an  outcast, 
all  by  the  delusions  of  free  love.  On  her  death 
bed  she  shrieks,  "  Oh  !  Too  late  !  Too  late  !  I 
see  my  folly  !  Oh  !  my  husband  !  Oh  !  my  chil 
dren  !  my  children  ! " 


500  COST  OF  BOSTON'S  FUN. 

Now  who  are  these  priestesses  of  virtue  ?  These 
oracles  of  fate,  that  hold  the  destiny  of  the  mighty  ? 

What   their  record?    What  their  character?     Of 

/ 

the  twenty  mediums  who  Have  been  investigated 
for  this  book,  nineteen  have  changed  their  "affin 
ities,"  some  of  them  a  score  of  times.  Fifteen 
have  been  divorced,  and  they  have  caused  three 
times  fifteen  divorces  in  other  families.  Four  have 
been  arrested  for  pre-natal  murder,  one  is  now 
serving  seven  years  in  prison,  and  three  are  out  on 
bail.  The  other  sixteen  are  pursuing  their  nefari 
ous  occupation  unmolested,  while  many  a  sacred 
altar  trembles  in  the  scale,  and  many  a  home-guar 
dian  shudders  at  the  impending,  fate  of  the  next 
hour.  Now  for  the  fun  of  the  .thing. 

Boston's  theatres  to-day  are  given  almost  wholly 
to  fun.  But  little  is  there  in  them  to  develop  high 
character,  high  sentiment,  or  high  acting.  Why 
did  Booth  run  behind  $8,000  in  a  few  weeks  at  the 
Globe  Theatre?  Because  the  patrons  of  that 
theatre  had  been  demoralized  by  travesty  and  ex 
travaganza,  and  could  not  appreciate  artistic  act 
ing.  The  variety  show,  burlesque,  song  and  dance 
have  lowered  the  taste  and  standard  of  theatrical 
performances  almost  to  demoralization.  A  fight 
of  a  dog  and  a  bear,  a  wrestling  match  or  pugi 
listic  encounter,  attract  more  than  the  classical 
drama.  Actors  on  all  fours  draw !  The  more 


FUN,    FUN,    15KEAD   Oil   NO    BREAD.  501 

legs,  the  more  dollars  !  Hamlet  must  give  way 
to  the  "  Lone  Fisherman  "  ;  Macbeth  to  the  "  heifer- 
dance  " ;  the  Roman  daughter  of  Virginius  to  the 
captain's  daughter  of  "Tinafore." 

So  Boston  morally  declines  ;  five  thousand  idle 
young  men,  educated  in  Folly's  school,  —  the 
w  fool's  paradise,"  —  seeking  only  fun  !  What  seeds 
sprouting  for  future  harvest !  What  a  harvest  of 
woe  in  store  for  young  men  !  Blindly  they  sow  in 
smiles,  to  reap  in  tears.  Anna  Dickinson  says  she 
left  the  platform  for  the  stage,  because  she  had 
nothing  to  say  that  the  public  wanted  to  hear. 

Nothing  to  say  !  Nothing  to  say,  when  vice  is 
gathering  its  holocaust  of  victims  !  When  intem 
perance  staggers  unblushing  through  the  streets  ! 
Nothing  to  say,  when  so  many  idle  and  vicious 
need  warning,  entreating,  rescuing  from  sin ! 
Nothing  to  say,  when  the  poor,  ignorant,  starving, 
need  comfort  and  help,  need  to  be  inspired  with 
uplifting,  self-reliant  zeal  an;l  faith  in  God  !  Noth 
ing  to  say  !  Can  it  be  ?  Has  a  woman  nothing  to 
say  Avhose  voice  once  thrilled  the  nation  for  the 
downtrodden  and  oppressed?  Ah!  why  has  she 
nothing  to  say?  It  is  this  :  because  she  has  lost 
faith  in  humanity,  —  lost  heart ! 

What  are  Boston's  needs?  She  needs  a  vol 
canic  commotion  for  upheaval  that  shall  shake  her 
from  her  sins.  She  needs  eloquent  men  and 


502  COST  OF  BOSTON'S  FUN. 

women  to  electrify  and  fire  the  masses  with  holy 
ardor  ;  tongues  of  fire,  hearts  that  burn,  zeal  that 
kindles.  I  see  before  me  hundreds  of  willing 
souls  waiting  for  the  opportunity ;  waiting  anx 
iously,  though  idle ;  waiting  like  the  prophet 
Isaiah,  dumb,  speechless,  until  the  sacred  fire 
from  the  altar  of  God  touches  the  lips,  the  angel 
gives  the  word,  uttering  the  prophetic  call. 

Oh  !  for  an  angel's  voice  to  inspire  Boston's  young 
men  !  Oh  !  for  a  prophet's  warning  cry  to  arouse 
them  to  act  their  part  on  the  stage  of  life  !  Up, 
up,  up  !  Young  men  !  up  !  for  the  battle  of  life  ! 
See  the  crimson  dawn !  the  day-star  on  high ! 
Hear  the  matin-call,  awake !  Awake  to  life's 
duty  !  Hark  !  the  herdsman's  horn  !  the  glee  of 
voices,  and  the  din  of  wheels  !  Awake  !  awake  ! 
'T  is  but  a  day  you  have  to  play  your  part.  Oh  ! 
play  it  well !  Soon  the  curtain  shall  fall  on  life's 
fitful  drama,  when  its  last  act  shall  merge  thee  into 
eternity  !  Then  the  soul,  disrobed  of  the  mortal, 
shall  put  on  immortality.  Then  the  arena  be 
changed.  Then  the  stage  transformed  from  earth 
to  heaven.  Then  the  stars  be  the  foot-lights  ;  then 
the  heavens  departing  as  a  scroll  by  the  rising 
curtain.  Then  the  sound  of  many  waters  and  the 
voice  of  mighty  thunders  shall  be  the  orchestra. 
Then  the  resurrection  trump  shall  be  the  prompter. 
Then  the  knell  of  time  be  the  bell-call  to  the  new 


FUN,    FUX,    BREAD   OR  NO  BREAD.  503 

theatre  of  action,  and  the  drama's  last  castatrophe 
be  the  wreck  of  matter  and  the  crash  of  worlds  ! 
Thus  life's  tragedy  ends,  and  eternity  begins. 
Xow  for  the  moral :  What  is  m:in's  highest  call 
ing?  What  his  highest  stage  of  action?  'Tis 
this:  to  live  right, — to  die  right!  To  live  for 
humanity  ;  for  God  and  eternity  !  Life  is  a  stage  ; 
every  man  a  player.  Who  has  the  best  record  on 
high?  Who  will  pass  muster  at  the  last  day? 
Speak  !  ye  actors  of  the  past ! 

Here  comes  Garrick,  divested  of  his  kingly 
robes.  Speak  !  Garrick.  What  hast  thou  done  ? 
"  I  held  the  mirror  up  to  nature ;  softened  men's 
hearts,  melted  them  to  tears ;  portrayed  the 
heroic."  Very  well.  Pass  on !  Here  comes 
Forrest.  What  hast  thou  done ?  "I  stirred  the 
savage  in  man's  breast,  and  awoke  his  softer 
nature."  Very  well.  Pass  on!  Here  comes  Ivean. 
What  hast  thou  done ?  "I  stormed  the  castles  of 
prejudice,  subdued  hearts,  and  won  the  world's 
applause.  My  heart  was  a  volcano  of  passion." 
Here  comes  Mrs.  Siddons.  What  hast  thou  done  ? 
"  I  ennobled  my  sex.  I  personated  female  heroism  ; 
made  virtue  beautiful,  vice  odious."  Here  comes 
Charlotte  Cushman.  What  hast  thou  done ?  "I 
typified  the  noblest  virtues ;  led  a  stainless  life." 
Here  comes  Macready.  What  hast  thou  done  ? 
"I  strove  to  elevate  the  stage  ;  fought  against  vice  ; 


504  COST  OF  BOSTON'S  FUN. 

personated  the  noblest  characters  in  the  world's 
history."  Here  comes  the  preacher,  grandest 
actor  of  all,  —  Whitefield.  What  hast  thou  done  ? 
"  I  followed  the  footsteps  of  Him  who  cometh  with 
•a  crown  of  thorns  from  the  brow  of  calvary.  I 
consoled  the  penitent,  reclaimed  the  fallen,  sought 
the  lost,  led  sinners  up  to  God  !  "  Welcome,  thou 
favored  of  the  Most  High !  Highest  thy  seat  ! 
Brightest  thy  crown !  Superior  thy  glory  to  all 
actors  and  all  artists  !  For  "  He  that  converteth 
a  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  ways  shall  shine  as 
the  sun,  and  they  that  turn  many  to  righteousness 
l>e  as  the  stars  of  the  firmament,  for  ever  and 
ever ! " 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

BOSTON'S   TWO    HUNDRED    AND  FIFTIETH   ANNIVER 
SARY. —  CAN  BOSTON  BE  REDEEMED? 

Ox  Friday,  Sept.  17,  1880,  Boston  celebrated 
its  two  hundred  and  fiftieth  anniversary.  It  was 
a  remarkable  day,  long  to  be  remembered,  a 
gala  day.  September's  golden  sun  never  shone 
from  a  fairer  sky.  Autumn  leaves  from  elm- 
trees  on  Boston  Common  seemed  unwilling  to 
fall,  as  the  gentle  breeze  swept  their  fellows  over 
the  graves  of  the  fathers  !  Those  graves  seemed 
clad  in  richest  verdure,  kissed  by  recent  rains, 
and  blooming  in  sweetest  odor  for  the  occasion. 
The  voice  of  the  zephyr  through  tall  trees, 
over  century-made  mounds,  whispers,  "  Peace  ! 
peace  to  their  ashes  !  "  The  waters  of  Massachu 
setts  Bay,  dancing  in  the  sunlight,  and  warbling 
around  Bunker  Hill,  sing  dulcet  symphonies  of 
patriotic  joy.  This  was  nature's  tribute  to  the 
heroic  dead ! 

All  nature  is  in  sympathy,  and  all  of  Boston 
puts  on  her  gay  attire.  Streets  and  parks  are 
decorated,  and  filled  with  processions,  civic,  mili 
tary,  and  mercantile.  10,000  persons  move  in 


506  BOSTON'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

line ;  forty  bands  supply  the  music,  while  300,- 
000  persons  come  in  on  the  steam-cars  alone. 
As  a  Boston  trait,  however,  the  speculator,  the 
huge  monopolist,  takes  advantage  of  the  carnival 
to  advertise  his  wares.  Men  undermining  all 
small  traders,  selling  goods  at  less  than  cost  to 
break  others  down,  getting  advertisements  at  half 
price,  and  orphan  help  still  less,  saw  in  this  their 
way  to  advertise  through  a  million  of  people  and 
a  million  of  newspapers  for  nothing. 

All  business  is  suspended  except  the  liquor 
business.  Liquor  men,  stable  men,  and  sports 
men  reap  largo  fortunes.  Indeed,  the  celebra 
tion  was  concocted  more  in  their  behalf  than  for 
patriotism,  an  ex-liquor  seller  being  chairman. 
"While  out  of  work  the  fingering  of  a  few  thousand 
of  the  appropriations  is  a  convenient  pastime  ! 

On  this  day  the  bronze  statue  of  John  \Vin- 
throp,  founder  of  Boston,  saint  and  patriot,  was 
unveiled.  The  mayor,  who  had  tried  every  means 
to  get  a  few  extra  thousands  for  his  political  strik 
ers  to  spend,  pronounced  the  eulogy  of  that  great 
and  good  man.  The  address  was  delivered  in  the 
Old  South  Meeting-House,  which  was  trimmed  in 
holiday  array,  echoing  with  artistic  song,  and  with 
the  semblance,  at  least,  of  prayer. 

Fancuil  Hall  also  aspired  for  the  honors  of  the 
celebration.  On  hinges  once  refused  to  Daniel 
Webster,  her  historic  doors  swung  wide  open,  to 


CAN   BOSTON   BE   IlEDEEMED?  507 

welcome  invited  guests ;  mayors,  governors,  sen- 
atvors,  members  of  cabinet,  honoring  the  occasion 
with  their  reverent  presence. 

The  heart  of  the  whole  nation  was  turned  to 
wards  Boston.  Boston,  the  original  seat  of  learn 
ing,  wealth,  piety,  patriotism,  and  commerce  !  The 
spirit  of  her  ancient  devotion  was  responded  to 
by  millions  of  hearts.  And  thus  for  her  past  his 
tory  and  glory  was  she  honored.  Alas !  alas ! 
the  Boston  of  1776  is  no  more!  Puritanism  has 
given  way  to  modern  paganism.  Patriotism  to 
greed.  Devotion  to  sensuality.  Sacrifice  for  self. 
Rise  !  rise  !  ye  Goths  and  vandals  !  If  degenerate 
Rome  must  fall,  then  let  rugged  barbarism  sup 
plant  effete  civilization  ! 

r  God's  noblemen  !  were  those  old  Puritan  fa 
thers  !  Peers  of  heaven  !  Chosen  saints  of  God  ! 
Men  who  lived  not  for  self,  but  for  their  fel low- 
men  !  Not  for  the  present  moment,  but  for  pos 
terity.  Not  for  time,  but  for  eternity.  Not  for 
sordid  greed,  but  for  a  heavenly  crown. 
~X*ike  the  Jews,  they  had  no  festivals  without 
religion.  No  gatherings  without  God's  invocation. 
With  them  education  was  next  to  revelation.  The 
Bible  the  standard  of  all  morality.  Intoxication 
a  phenomenon.  Suicides  and  murders  almost 
unknown.  Rev.  Nathaniel  Ward  writes  that  he 
lived  seven  years  in  the  colonies  and  saw  but  OIK- 
drunken  man.  How  is  it  now?  Why  there  arc 


508  BOSTON'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

more  than  one  hundred  drunken  men  in  Boston 
every  day.  Sometimes  as  many  as  one  hundred 
in  the  courts,  and  nearly  as  many  women.  Wo 
men  are  picked  up  and  dragged  to  the  station- 
house  in  express-wagons,  like  live  stock  borne  to 
the  slaughter ! 

Our  fathers !  Where  are  they?  Alas!  we 
have  no  fathers  now  but  city  fathers  !  They  tax 
to  the  death,  then  spend  the  money  for  empty 
shows  to  win  ignorant  votes.  Rich  men  are 
forced  from  the  city.  Boston's  biggest  importer 
moved  to  Philadelphia  rather  than  submit.  Bos 
ton's  greatest  banker  pays  half  the  taxes  of  Lan 
caster,  rather  than  be  domiciled  in  the  city  of  his 
wealth.  A  dozen  rnillionnaires  have  removed  to 
Nahant,  a  score  to  Newport.  Thus  Boston  is 
depleted  of  her  rich  men,  while  taxes  rise  from 
$12  to  $16  on  a  thousand. 

What  is  this  celebration  for?  What  does  it 
commemorate?  Out  of  respect  to  the  founders, 
how  much  more  appropriate  to  celebrate  the  day 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes  !  To  spend  it  in  fasting, 
humiliation,  and  prayer  !  To  invoke  God's  mercy 
and  God's  help  to  free  the  people  from  sin.  Let 
every  citizen  practise  Puritan  virtues  at  lenst  for 
a  day  !  Let  them  practise  self-denial,  self-sacri 
fice.  Let  every  liquor  shop  and  gambling  den 
be  closed.  Let  the  tens  of  thousands  of  parasites 
living  on  the  hard  earnings  of  the  industrious  go  to 


CAN    BOSTON    BE    KEDEEMEI>y  509 

work  !  Do  one  honest  day's  work  in  their  lives  ! 
One  day  of  Puritan  living  would  be  a  marvel  ! 
We  have  old  folks'  concerts,  and  tableaux  ;  now 
give  us  the  men,  the  God-fearing  men  of  olden 
times,  if  you  can. 

"But  the  trades'  processions  were  to  exhibit  the 
arts,  show  the  improvements  of  the  age  !  " 

Yes,  but  more  profitable  would  it  be  to  show 
improvements  in  men,  rather  than  in  machines ! 
Take  the  printing-press,  for  instance.  In  that 
procession  was  Franklin's  old  press,  and  also  the 
new  invention.  However,  since  the  press  with 
its  Sunday  papers  has  almost  supplanted  the 
pulpit,  thoughtful,  Christian  people  may  look 
upon  its  power  with  alarm.  What  hope  for  the 
country  without  morals,  and  without  Christianity  ? 
And  what  hope  for  Christianity  without  a  Sabbath  ? 
The  press  does  more  to  break  down  the  Sabbath 
than  all  other  forces  combined. 

Again,  there  were  exhibited  the  intricate  lock, 
and  the  safe ;  works  of  superior  mechanism  and 
skill.  Once,  however,  honesty  was  our  best  se 
curity.  The  time  was  when  the  latch-string  or 
the  unbolted  window  was  sufficient  protection. 
Honest  men  are  better  safeguards  than  bolts  and 
bars. 

Fire  engines  were  also  paraded,  new  and  old. 
Still,  an  old  engine  in  an  honest  community  gave 
better  protection  than  the  new  invention.  Look 


510  BOSTON'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

at  the  seven  recent  great  fires  in  Boston,  all  by 
the  hand  of  the  incendiary !  First,  Treinont 
Temple  fire.  Ten  minutes  before  Tremont  Tem 
ple  was  ablaze,  two  men  were  in  an  eating-hou.se 
near  by,  in  conversation.  One  says,  "This  will 
be  the  biggist  fire  that  Boston  has  had  for  a  long 
time!"  "That  is  so;  it  will  be  a  stunner !"  was 
the  reply.  Ten  minutes  later,  the  bells  rang,  and 
cries  of  "  Fire  !  Fire  !  Fire  !  "  filled  the  streets. 
Up  sprang  the  men,  and  out  they  went  to  see  the 
sight.  The  side  door  of  the  Temple  was  un 
locked  ;  the  great  organ  was  ablaze,  and  in  half 
an  hour  Tremont  Temple  was  no  more.  Old 
Pine  Street  Church  met  a  similar  fate  by  the  hand 
of  the  incendiary. 

Recently,  the  store  of  Lewis  &  Brown,  on 
Summer  Street,  was  found  on  fire.  It  was  at 
dusk  of  evening,  —  the  time  when  such  fires 
usually  occur.  Another  store  was  ignited  at  the 
same  time,  near  by.  And  to  make  the  conflagra 
tion  doubly  sure,  alarm  was  sounded  from  Sud- 
bury  Street  to  draw  off  the  engines.  The  loss 
was  enormous  ! 

Again,  close  by  this  was  the  fire  at  Rice  & 
Kendall's,  costing  quarter  of  a  million.  Build 
ings  supposed  to  be  almost  fire-proof  melted  like 
wax.  Still  another  on  Winthrop  Square,  cost 
ing  half  a  million.  All  by  the  torch  ! 

And  further  still.     While  that  procession  was 


CAN    BOSTON    BE    REDEEMED?  511 

moving  with  its  splendid  engines,  one  being  from 
New  Jersey,  word  ran  along  the  line  of  street 
gazers,  "  There  will  be  a  chance  to  try  them  to 
night.  It  will  beat  Jordan  &  Marsh's  electri 
light  on  the  Common ! "  And  sure  enough,  a 
lumber  yard  on  Albany  Street  soon  lighted  the 
evening  sky.  It  was  a  frightful  blaze  !  vast  piles 
of  lumber,  more  than  would  be  consumed  in  fifty 
houses,  lighted  up  the  waters  of  the  harbor,  and 
illumed  the  whole  heavens. 

Now,  in  the  face  of  these  unprecedented  crimes, 
we  are  called  upon  to  celebrate.  Celebrate  what? 
What  but  to  glory  in  our  own  shame  !  Who  has 
asked  for  this  celebration?  Who  but  politicians 
greedy  to  handle  the  money?  Rats  in  an  old 
cheese  !  small  mice,  however,  must  keep  out ;  the 
Orangemen  with  Bible  in  hand  were  peremptorily 
forbid  to  march  in  the  ranks.  They  were  too 
puritanical.  "  No  Bibles  allowed  !  "  And  this 
in  honor  of  the  Bible-reading,  school-planting, 
church-going  Puritan  fathers. 

In  former  celebrations  the  children  of  the  pub 
lic  schools  took  a  prominent  part.  Children  were 
the  pilgrims'  hope  and  pride.  Free  schools  were 
New  England's  boast  and  glory.  Yet  in  this 
procession  there  was  not  a  group,  nor  a  child, 
except  those  on  whose  banners  might  be  inscribed 
"  DEATH  TO  FREE  SCHOOLS  !  Twenty  years  hence 
free  school-houses  will  be  for  sale  or  to  let!" 


512  BOSTON'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

CAN  BOSTON  BE  REDEEMED  ?  Yes !  yes  !  A 
thousand  times  yes  !  When  the  God  of  heaven 
is  invoked  more  than  the  courts  of  earth.  When 
He  that  turneth  the  hearts  of  the  people,  as  rivers 
of  waters  are  turned,  shall  take  the  lead.  When 
the  pulpit  shall  sound  alarm  and  the  press  shall 
re-echo  the  cry.  When  the  thousand  agents  of 
this  book  and  their  hundred  thousand  readers 
have  done  their  duty.  When  the  true  Catholic 
shall  think  for  himself,  and  vote  as  he  thinks,  and 
not  with  the  demagogue  I  When  country  legisla 
tors  shall  have  backbone  enough  to  make  laws 
for  the  city  and  see  them  executed.  When  a 
metropolitan  police  shall  be  elected  that  cannot 
be  bribed.  When  the  thousands  of  criminal  cases 
that  have  been  filed  away  shall  be  brought  to  trial. 
When  the  judiciary  shall  be  reformed. 

When  the  victims  from  every  New  England 
State  cry  out,  "  How  LONG,  O  LORD,  now  LONG  ! " 
When  broken-hearted  wives  and  mothers  pierce 
the  heavens  with  their  waitings,  and  Boston  be 
comes  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  humbles  herself 
in  the  dust !  Then,  no  more  will  this  Babylon 
boast,  "I  sit  a  queen,  am  no  widow,  and  shall  see 
no  sorrow  ! "  But  clothing  herself  in  humility, 
she  shall  respect  her  laws,  keep  her  Sabbaths,  fear 
God,  and  work  righteousness.  Then  shall  her 
walls  echo  salvation  and  her  gates  praise. 


NOTICES  OF  THE  PRESS. 


New  York  Watch- Tower,  by  REV.  J.  C.  FOSTER  (Baptist). 

UNCOVERING  CORRUPTION.  —  There  is  a  bold  reformer  in 
Boston  who  cannot  be  silenced  by  those  who  would  coax  or 
frighten  him  from  uttering  the  truth  concerning  the  wicked 
ness  of  the  city  He  is  deemed  eccentric,  to  say  the  least,  by 
many  who  would  by  no  means  approve  of  the  sins  and  wrongs 
which  he  exposes  and  denounces;  and  while  they  admit  the 
truth  of  what  he  proclaims  as  upon  the  housetop,  they  regard 
him  as  rather  fanatical,  and  hardly  justifiable  in  some  of  his 
utterances  in  condemnation  of  "sinners  in  broadcloth  "  as 
well  as  those  in  meaner  apparel.  Rev.  Henry  Morgan  is  as 
one  of  the  old  prophets  risen  from  the  dead.  His  recently 
published  book,  "Boston  Turned  Inside  Out,"  is  a  terrible 
revelation  of  the  sins  of  a  great  city.  It  is  a  book  that  will 
be,  as  it  ought  to  be,  read,  however  much  it  may  be  decried  ; 
and  whatever  attempts  may  be  made  to  suppress  it,  edition 
after  edition  will  be  issued,  to  the  discomfiture  of  evil-doers 
iu  either  high  or  low  places,  socially  or  ecclesiastically.  Five 
editions  have  already  been  demanded,  and  this,  probably,  is 
not  a  tenth  of  what  will  be  required.  The  portrayal  of  in 
iquity  found  in  the  book  is  odious  and  hideous,  but  truthful, 
nevertheless,  and  though  the  exhibition  is  exceedingly  dis 
gusting,  its  mission  is  benevolent  and  philanthropic.  With  an 
untrembling  hand  the  covering  is  removed  from  the  exten 
sively  prevalent  drinking,  gambling,  quackery,  medical  mal 
practice,  baby  farming,  debauchery  and  criminality  in  respect 
able  circles,  as  well  as  elsewhere.  Seldom  has  there  been 
such  an  arraignment  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priesthood,  and 


it  must  be  effective  in  some  direction,  exposing  the  author  to 
the  wrath  of  Rome,  if  nothing  more.  The  infamous  conduct 
cf  one  of  the  highest  ecclesiastics  in  New  England  is  set 
forth  in  an  amazing,  as  well  as  repulsive  light,  in  the  record 
given  of  "Father  Titus,"  a  real  character  with  a  fictitious 
name,  the  developments  being  almost  incredibly  abominable. 
A  greater  scoundrel  could  not  well  be  imagined  than  this 
high  papal  functionary  is  shosvn  to  be,  and  yet  it  is  no  fanci 
ful  description,  but  awfully  truthful,  as  can  be  proved.  The 
original  of  this  "Father  Titus"  can  be  identified  by  not  a 
few  of  the  readers,  though  the  press  of  Boston  has  never 
alluded  to  his  well-known  rascalities  so  as  to  designate  the 
offender.  When  clergymen  outside  of  the  Romish  Church  are 
only  suspected  of  indiscretions  and  misdemeanors,  the  Boston 
papers  are  quick  to  advertise,  post,  journalize,  transcribe  and 
herald  the  matter  in  the  most  disgusting  details ;  but  when  a 
Catholic  priest  indulges  even  in  the  vilest  and  most  atrocious 
criminalities,  they  are  silent  as  the  grave.  It  is  remarkable, 
if  true,  as  is  stated,  that  a  Romanist  should  be  connected 
with  the  editorial  or  other  management  of  almost,  if  not 
quite,  every  daily  paper  in  Boston,  and  that  nothing  damaging 
to  the  reputation  of  the  papal  priesthood  can  find  a  place 
in  the  columns  of  any  one  of  these  dailies.  Mr.  Morgan  says 
that  all  the  evils  of  which  he  writes  were  known  to  the  press 
before  he  obtained  the  facts  in  his  possession,  and  that  even 
the  crimes  of  "  Father  Titus  "  were  familiar  to  the  editors, 
but  all  mentioning  of  them  was  hushed.  This  is  an  ominous 
state  of  things.  There  was  great  commotion  among  the 
Catholics  upon  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Morgan's  book,  but 
nothing  has  yet  been  done  about  it,  and  probably  there  will 
be  a  "masterly  inactivity "  in  regard  thereto,  becau-e  the 
hierarchy  is  too  shrewd  to  call  out  further  exposure  of  priestly 
corruption  and  moral  rottenness.  It  should  not  be  under 
stood,  however,  that  the  book  in  question  is  aimed  chiefly  at 
the  papists,  for  the  liberalists  are  also  noticed  in  no  compli 
mentary  way,  and  various  sins  are  made  to  appe  ar  exceeding 
sinful. 


Standard,  Chicago,  Aug.  12,  1880,  by  DR.  D.  C.  EDDY. 

BOSTON  TURNED  IXSIDE  OUT  is  the  title  of  a  book  just 
published  by  the  eccentric  Henry  Morgan,  who  has  been 
firing  hot  shot  into  the  sins  of  the  metropolis.  The  book  is 
worthy  of  note  from  the  fact  that  its  central  hero,  Father 
Titus,  is  understood  to  be  a  well-known  ecclesiastic  of  the 
Romish  Church,  whose  dissipated  life  and  tragic  deatli  are 
here  portrayed.  This  Morgan  is  an  irrepressible  character. 
A  good  man,  undoubtedly.  He  has  entered  upon  a  crusade 
of  city  reform,  and  is  doing  what  other  ministers  cannot  do. 
He  compelled  the  Catholics  at  the  great  Cathedral  Fair  to 
abandon  their  lotteries  and  conform  themselves  to  the  laws. 
He  secured  from  Gov.  Long  a  recommendation  in  his  inaugural 
message  for  a  more  stringent  law  against  gambling.  He  has 
attacked  the  quack  doctors  until  their  practices  stand  out 
before  the  public.  For  all  this  he  has  got  the  cold  shoulder 
from  some  genteel,  fastidious  Christian  people  who  would 
rather  see  sin  go  on  than  have  the  naked  truth  told  in  its 
exposure.  The  trustees  of  Music  Hall  where  he  lectured  shut 
him  out.  The  quack  doctors  sued  him  for  $10,000  damages. 
The  Catholics  secured  his  expulsion  from  the  public  press. 
But  he  compelled  the  trustees  to  open  the  hall.  The  quack 
doctors  became  alarmed  and  withdrew  their  suit.  The  Cath 
olics  who  had  tried  to  suppress  his  book  found  it  impossible 
to  do  it,  and  Morgan  is  on  the  top  of  the  wave.  His  methods 
are  his  own,  but  the  work  he  is  doing  belongs  to  all  good 
men. 

From  the  Watch  Tower. 

No  one  can  charge  him  with  doubtful  measures.  His  book 
and  lectures  are  a  Jonah-like  cry  against  our  New  England 
Nineveh. 

From  the  Boston  Congrpgationalist. 

Rev.  Henry  Morgan  is  pluckily  pursuing  his  mission,  has 
taken  his  position  manfully  and  squarely,  and  he  ought  to 
have  the  sympathy  and  support  of  all  good  citizens. 


From  Zioris  Herald. 

Rev.  Henry  Morgan  is  certainly  accompli  el  dng  good  ser 
vice  for  the  cause  of  virtue  and  purity.  His  crusade  against 
gambling  at  church  fairs,  if  it  has  not  put  a  stop  to  them,  has 
made  even  our  Catholic  neighbors  very  careful  to  avoid  a 
breach  of  the  letter  of  the  law.  His  revelation  of  the  terrible 
drinking  and  gambling  dens  in  our  city,  and  the  presence  in 
them  of  members  of  some  of  our  (so-esteemed)  reputable 
i'amilies,  so  startled  the  proprietors  of  Music  Hall  that  they 
closed  their  doors  upon  his  lectures.  But  the  shame  is  in  the 
fact  and  not  in  the  exposure.  It  was  not  a  riot  of  which  the 
superintendent  was  afraid,  but  the  revelation.  Free  speech 
will  triumph  in  the  end  in  Boston,  and  Henry  Morgan  is 
irrepressible. 

From  the  Golden  Eule. 

There  may  have  been  other  reasons  for  refusing  Music 
Hall,  but  the  reason  given  —  the  fear  of  damage  to  the  hall 
through  violent  demonstrations  against  the  speaker  —  ought 
to  be  at  least  thirty  years  too  late  for  Boston.  If  a  man 
can't  denounce  gambling  and  other  forms  of  tolerated  vice, 
without  danger  of  mob  violence,  it  is  time  the  fact  was 
known. 

Maiden  Mirror,  May  22. 

The  police  authorities  of  Boston  want  Rev.  Henry  Morgan's 
book,  "  Boston  Inside  Out,"  suppressed.  Better  suppress  the 
vices  and  wickedness  it  exposes. 

Boston  Post,  May  19. 

The  attempt  to  suppress  Rev.  Henry  Morgan's  book,  "  Bos 
ton  Inside  Out,"  will  probably  only  increase  the  demand  for 
it.  Mr.  Morgan  says  he  shall  not  suppress  a  line  in  his  next 
edition,  as  there  is  not  an  impure  line  to  suppress.  He  ex 
pects  to  sell  60,000  copies  in  a  year,  as  "Ned  Nevins,  the 
News  Boy  "  had  a  run  of  30,000,  while  this  is  a  far  superior 
book. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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